


this is a story of the sea

by shinzouing



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (and eventual duo), (related to explicit hookups of the main trio), Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Grief, Miscommunication, Threesome - F/M/M, canonverse, dr liz kübler-ross having an absolute fucking field day, pining coming from inside the ship, rating to increase and more tags to come, seemingly unrequited crushes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28773696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinzouing/pseuds/shinzouing
Summary: You and Levi have a truce: when sharing Erwin’s bed, (almost) anything goes. You both want him too much to let your years-long feud stop you.But after reclaiming Shiganshina, you have to decide: how do you two keep going without your fulcrum? Is there anything left between you—and were you the only one keeping your true feelings secret? Caught up in memories and grief, it becomes clear that the only way to move forward is to do it together.(from the serum to the sea, and everything that came before.)
Relationships: Erwin Smith/Reader, Levi/Erwin Smith, Levi/Erwin Smith/Reader, Levi/Reader
Comments: 64
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> oh hi! so this came about because, much as i’m eruri garbage, my heart breaks at leaving the one of ‘em almost alone after the RTS arc. tons of words later, with more to come (assuming you dig?), here we are.
> 
> please heed the tags—this isn't a cheery story, but it is a hopeful one, with the remaining duo ending up truly TOGETHER-together by the end. the flashbacks are lighter, but it’s still in-universe, so it definitely isn’t all sunshine all the time. some chaps will be set entirely in the past, but most should be a combo of present/past.
> 
>  **major spoilers** through season 3 of the anime and chapter 90 of the manga. (i tried to keep them out of the summary/tags, but let me know if that failed, and i'll correct it!!)
> 
> title comes from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ITRiwuPuMUk) (and yknow, everything else).
> 
> will try to update every other week!
> 
> 💖

_Now. Shiganshina. 850._

You get there too late to make any damn difference.

Hange— _alive_ , utterly unruffled about the blood-spotted bandage over their eye—stops you before you can go up to the roof. They grip your arms bruising-tight, forcing you to look at them instead of what you can’t see up above.

They tell you what happened. The choice Levi had to make. What the Scouts lost, and gained, and what happened on each side of the wall. They speak gently, their own grief so apparent.

And they know what Erwin is to you. To Levi.

They’re the only person who _does_ know, ever since Miche...

You grip their arms, reeling. You can’t believe it. You _don’t_ believe it.

(And oh, hell—just two days ago, you and Erwin stared each other down about the possibility of this exact thing. It was tempting to take your own stab at convincing him to stay behind, but no one could’ve talked you into backing out, either. All his hopes, the things you’ve dreamed, too, so many answers finally, seemingly, at the tips of your fingers…

 _I get it_. You ended up pressing the words to his lips, forgiveness in case of the worst. Denial, too, because you’d made it this far. All three of you, against every odd. _I hate it, but I get it._

He started to try to explain himself a little more, and you’d said, _Shut up, it’s okay—don’t._ You meant _don’t apologize_ , but you also meant _don’t make me need the apology._ )

Standing here, on this side of it…“No,” you breathe. “C’mon, he _can’t_ —”

“It’s done,” Hange says, forehead to yours despite the blood drying down the left side of your face. They say your name, too, forcing you to meet their eye. “It’s done. He’s gone.”

You need to see for yourself.

You fire your cables and haul yourself up onto the clay shingles, midday sun in your eyes before you see—

Levi, sitting on the highest ridge of the roof. His knees are pulled up, his elbows braced on them, head in his hands.

When your boots hit, he glances your way. His gray eyes are hollowed-out, haunted, but they widen when he sees that it’s you. His whole body twitches toward you, your name in his mouth, his face suddenly wide-open with that shocky, vulnerable _you’re alive?_ look that you know by heart. His gaze lingers briefly on the cut you can feel throbbing above your left eye.

Then you see Erwin.

He’s—

Fuck.

Even hearing it from Hange, even seeing it, seeing _him—_ it’s impossible. It’s just. It can’t be _real_.

There’s so much blood. An absurd amount. You can smell the sun-warmed copper of it, streaking down the roof beneath the ruin of Erwin’s left side, pooling in the mossy gutters.

And Hange said—they said, they _said_ the choice was almost different—

Before your knees can buckle, you launch yourself at Levi with a strangled cry.

He lets you knock him back to the roof, your knees landing on either side of his hips, your fingers snarled in his cloak, scabbards clacking together. His hands knot in your shirt, tight around the harness across your sternum, but he just—he just stares up at you while your clenched, shaking fist hovers in midair.

You want to deck him across the jaw. You want to stifle a scream against his chest, and then pound on it until he coughs up an excuse that actually makes sense.

You want to burrow into his arms and weep until this nightmare ends.

While you decide, those gray eyes stay locked on yours, and—they’re wet, you realize gradually. They’re not spilling over, but drying tear tracks have already cut shining trenches down his face. His arms are shaking, near vibrating in clear exhaustion.

You’ve seen him break, you’ve seen him broken.

You’ve never seen him like this.

Your fist unclenches.

He hisses, “Coward.”

“Asshole.” You try to rise, but he hasn’t released your straps. “Let go, damn it—”

“You were gone,” he croaks. “Hange’s whole squad, I—we thought…” He lifts one hand as if to touch your face. But at the last second, he draws it back and looks away. His other hand releases your harness.

You glare. “Who’s the coward now?”

He doesn’t answer.

You shove yourself off of him. On legs that shake, you stagger the two steps down to Erwin’s side and hit your knees. Your scabbards smack against the shingles.

You smooth the untidy hair off his forehead; it’s sweat-damp. You touch his hand; it’s warm. You curl it around your own hand, folding his fingers through yours. The calluses on your palm catch against the ones on his, mirrored. Years of training written across your skin and his. He’s always had beautiful hands. Broad, square, elegant despite how fucking big they are, so intimately familiar with your body.

 _If he’d gotten the serum, he could’ve held us with both arms again_.

Being unable to do that hurt him worse than the actual loss of the arm, you think. It was one of the first things he said to you then, pale and delirious, barely holding himself upright in the dirt while you replaced his shitty, makeshift tourniquet with one of his own belts: _We’ll have to figure out a way for me to hold you both. Properly._

Now you press your cheek (the right one, the one without blood) against his palm, getting his fingertips in your hair. You’re alone up here on this roof, and fuck, you’re so beyond caring who sees.

He still smells faintly of leather and something warm, rich—almost indescribable but unmistakably _him_. The scent puts you directly in his bed, plunges you into sense-memories of nosing sleepily against the stubble beneath his jaw each morning. Your knee knocking into Levi’s, and Levi’s annoyed grunt before twining your legs together anyway. The way Erwin would smile about it.

 _Maybe there’s serum left_ , you think, even as you recognize how delusional it is. _Maybe there’s something else we can do—anything—maybe he’s not really—_

But your thumb rests against Erwin’s pulse point, and you can’t feel anything except smooth skin, the barely-there rise of veins and tendons. The serum always counted on its recipient still living. Beneath the familiar scent of him, the metallic stench of too much blood reminds you that there’s no coming back from this.

You glance over Erwin’s hand. Levi has returned to the highest point of the roof. Knees up, just one hand in his hair now. The other arm hangs long, elbow on his knee.

You press your mouth against Erwin’s palm, then lower it gently, and move back up the roof to sit beside Levi. Your whole body drags with ache and exhaustion and grief.

It’s not just grief over Erwin. When Hange intercepted you below, you saw that group. The people left alive. None of your squadmates were among them. Not even Moblit. And there was a new guy—one of the fresh recruits who was on the other side of the wall. He must be the only…

Levi’s tired eyes linger just above your left brow, where that cut still throbs faintly. He says, “Where the hell were you?”

You remember the burst of light. The heat. The way the air just—tore your grapples right out of the stone they were anchored to. “Some rich bastard’s wine cellar.”

“What?”

Elaborating feels like an uphill climb. “I got separated from Hange before the Colossal transformed. Wasn’t as close. Blast still knocked me through a window, into a house.” There’s a gap in your memory after that, but your left elbow throbs where it shattered that windowpane. Your whole left side is sore where you landed. “Woke up at the bottom of the steps in a wine cellar. Beam of light right to the eye.” You splay your fingers in front of it. “I guess that was Armin transforming.”

“Hange told you.”

“Yeah.”

For long, silent moments, the two of you just…watch Erwin. As though any minute, he’ll climb to his feet and demand a sitrep, his brows furrowed and expectant, his mind miles ahead. And yet his gaze would linger on yours and Levi’s, since you’d be alone with him.

Levi says, “You’re not gonna ask me why?”

You gulp, hard. “Not until I can handle the answer.” It rasps when you add, “But I think I got some ideas.” Some even make sense.

“It was the right call.”

“I know it was.” He needs to hear it more than you need to believe it.

Muscles clench in his jaw anyway.

“It was,” you repeat. Levi wouldn’t do this without a list of damn good reasons. “Just wish you didn’t have to make it.”

You’ve resigned yourself to the silence when he says, “It feels like shit.”

“For what it’s worth…” You can hear the exhaustion in your own voice. “At the very least, he probably woulda kicked your ass if you’d chosen him over a kid.”

Levi hums a noise of what could be agreement.

Yeah, Erwin trusted Levi’s judgment with that serum, but…damn, if it came down to a choice like that, Erwin _would_ be pissed if the serum didn’t go to Armin, you’re sure of it. Armin’s proven himself time and time again, and more than that, he and the other kids still have an unflinching optimism within them. The kind you haven’t been able to summon in years. Everything that’s happened since Trost, and still, they can carry the flame of hope without getting burned.

The point is, it’s easy to picture Erwin’s dismay, if Levi had revived him instead.

But he’d still be here.

And the three of you would be whole.

You think of the moment—what, an hour ago? two?—before you bolted over the wall to follow Hange. Your half-second of hesitation as you locked eyes with Erwin. Blue, heart-stopping blue, lakes and rivers and, in theory, the sea you’re so desperate to believe exists.

You and Levi always vowed it: no matter what the three of you were, you two would still go right into a Titan’s jaws if Erwin ordered it. You refused to let this relationship compromise any mission.

But with that last order, fingers tightening on your triggers, Erwin looking you full in the eyes in a way you’d never, ever seen him do with anyone else around—

It was like he already knew it would be the last time he’d see you. There was a softness. Gratitude, despite the adrenaline and fear.

Every instinct urged you to go to him. Grip his hand, pull him close. Press his forehead against yours one more time.

But you had your orders. If he didn’t want you riding back to pull him out of those jaws the day he lost his arm, he didn’t want you turning back for this, either.

It was like he saw the entire conflict in you, in just those few seconds. And his eyes said _I know_ and _thank you_ and _goodbye_.

You turned away and leaped into the abandoned city after Hange.

Now you add, “The right choice always feels like shit.”

“Not always,” Levi says, so quiet you almost don’t hear him. But when you look, those gray-blue eyes hold yours.

Is he thinking about the three of you?

Even now, you’d like to hope so. Still, after all this time, that ridiculous hope that maybe he really does care for you as much as he does Erwin. That maybe he always has, even after the rift between you opened.

But however you feel about each other, Erwin is the one thing you and Levi could always agree on. He took your prickly edges and your trauma and gave you tenderness, helped you _give_ tenderness in return. He coaxed vulnerability from the both of you and kept it safe and secret, treasured it and tended it. He showed you the best parts of each other. He made it safe to love.

The three of you had years of this, _years_. More time than anyone should’ve been allowed. But it’s been carved neatly into _before_ , and _after_. Then and now. Memories, and a future with a great big Erwin-shaped gap in it.

Fuck. It’s too much to dwell on at once. _One thing at a time_ , as Slade would say.

You look away from Levi at last, back to Erwin. According to Hange, there may not even be horses left, much less anything to carry bodies back to Trost. “What are we even gonna do with him?”

Levi takes a deep breath. “Let’s find somewhere he can rest. Until—until we can come back with a wagon. And bring him home.”

*

*

*

_Then. Outside Shiganshina. 844._

The first time you see Levi, it’s across a crowded mess hall. And he’s kind of…

“Underwhelming,” says Raoul.

“For a murdering, thieving gang leader,” adds Kel.

“That _can’t_ be true,” you protest, stealing glances at the guy over the rim of your teacup. He looks nothing like Slade Silvertongue, the ex-mob hero of your favorite adventure novels. Levi isn’t built like a brawler; he isn’t covered in gnarly scars. He looks a little grim, a little tired, but so do a lot of Scouts. “If he’s anything, he’s probably just some petty scam artist they picked up because we’re short on people.”

That’s why you’re here, anyway. The people shortage, not the scam artistry. Your division of the Scouts just transferred here to the base northwest of Shiganshina. Unit consolidation, after budget cuts and expedition losses. You and Raoul and Kel are part of the same squad—have been for years now—so you all arrived together.

“Whatever he is,” continues Raoul, “Captain Smith vouches for him. And that guy’s word is basically gold.”

“Been hearing that,” you say, scanning the other end of the hall for the officer’s table. Erwin Smith is deep in conversation with his companions, smiling a little. He looks the same as every other time you’ve seen him since you got here: like a total snooze. A golden boy on the fast track to leadership. _Boring_.

“No wonder,” says Kel, “Levi’s amazing at killing Titans. I heard Commander Shadis say he’s never seen anyone move so fast. The guy’s taken down more Titans in the last few months—” when Levi joined up, apparently. “—than the last two expeditions before him combined.”

You look back across the mess hall to get another look at Levi. He’s listening to something his friends are saying, his face still stony. _Him?_ Seriously?

As if he heard you think it, his eyes flicker away from his people and lock onto yours.

 _Ah, shit._ Caught, you smile, knowing it’s self-deprecating and hoping that makes up for the ogling.

He looks away like he never even noticed—but something in his flinty expression has softened a little.

Your face heats as you turn back to your friends.

***

As the next expedition approaches and your division gets settled in, the rumor mill grinds out more gossip about Levi. Slowly, you figure out what’s accurate.

That he lost his only friends (family, from the sound of it) on his first expedition: true.

That if he wasn’t with the Survey Corps, he’d be rotting in an MP dungeon: true.

That he’s got preternatural talent that might turn the tide of this war: _true_. You see him in practices, and then on the next expedition when his loudmouthed squad leader meets up with yours. The area is crawling with Titans, and Levi takes down three in a row, barely a pause between them. Then he helps finish off another four. Your two kills and two assists feel pitiful in comparison, never mind that it’s the second-best haul of the expedition.

Afterward, it’s straight to the stables to look after your horse. She’s been with you for years, a chestnut mare named Gem for the diamond blaze on her forehead. Like she does after every ride, she snuffles at your pockets for treats while you finish brushing her. “Coming back with apples,” you promise her, hanging up the brush. “Soon as I get a minute.”

She blows air as if she doesn’t believe you.

“I _will_ ,” you insist, backing out of the stall. “You deserve it, after toda—shit! _”_

Someone’s leaning against the stall beside yours, _close_ , and it’s—

It’s Levi.

His arms are folded; he’s been waiting for you. The horse behind him is the black mare you saw him riding out there. Apparently your stalls are side by side. You hadn’t noticed.

He says, “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“S’fine.” You look him over. He’s not _that_ short, not like people say, and he’s stockier than he seemed from a distance. His eyes are gray—maybe a little blue, but mostly slate—and wholly locked on you. _A murdering, thieving gang leader,_ Kel says in your memory. With the intensity here, you can believe it.

But his cravat looks ridiculous, like he thinks he’s some sort of dandy out of Mitras. It knocks the intimidation factor down a few notches.

You shut the stall door, your heartbeat finally settling. “Can I help you with something, or—?”

“Been looking to train with someone who actually knows what they’re doing. Interested?”

Wait. What? You glance around just in case he’s actually speaking with one of the countless others drifting past, or in the stalls around you.

He isn’t.

You frown at him. “Me?”

“I saw you out there. You’re better than anyone else in our squads combined. Will you do it or not?”

He was watching you out there, was he?

Well, you were watching him, too. And his speed—his _accuracy_ —corkscrewing around his targets like he was shot from a grooved barrel…it’s hard to believe he’s got a high opinion of anyone else’s skill.

Fine. If nothing else, you could probably learn something from him. And the more you know, the more likely you are to survive.

“Sure,” you say. “I’ll do it. But—your friends won’t?” You’ve seen him hanging around Squad Leader Zoë. Captain Smith, too.

“They tend to run training sessions, not join them.” Levi’s eyes narrow. Curiosity, not ire. “What were you before the Scouts, anyway? Some kind of—athlete? Acrobat?”

“What?” You nearly laugh—and then Gem ducks her head over the stall door and butts you in the shoulder, and you _are_ laughing, steadying yourself against her huge face as she snorts at your jacket pockets. You turn back to Levi to find his expression unchanged. “No, I—guess again.”

He looks away. “The skill you have. Just wondering if you grew up on the gear.”

You venture, “Like you.”

Those intense eyes flicker back to yours. “Shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

“Except when it’s true.”

He scoffs with an outrageously dismissive noise. _Tch_. But that could be a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Our squads’ training sessions line up in two days,” he says. “I’ll see you there.”

You almost think he’ll forget about it. But the next session, three squads facing the woods to square off and do a practice run, Levi finds you with Kel and Raoul. “We still on?” he asks.

Your friends stare at him like he materialized out of thin air. “Yeah,” you say. “How do you want to—?”

“If we start here and veer that way…” He gestures left of the training path. “We should have plenty of space.”

“Gonna introduce us?” Kel asks you.

Levi pins you with an expectant look that suggests this arrangement is on thin fucking ice. _Or maybe his face is always like that,_ you think, trying not to laugh. “You know what,” you say, “he and I were never formally introduced, either.”

Everyone trades names. Levi looks your friends over, appraising, while they look at you, flabbergasted. You’re about to follow Levi when Raoul takes your arm and leans close to your ear. “Try not to get stabbed, will you?”

You shake him off, grinning. “Don’t get judge-y about people you don’t know.”

“You don’t know him, either.”

“Yeah, but I’m working on it.”

Maybe you _should_ be nervous, considering Levi’s reputation. But he seems sincere—as sincere as the apparently perpetual grumpiness will let him. And anyway, you can’t think of a single motive he’d have to gank you. It can’t be to steal from you; you’re in the Survey Corps, where everybody’s got basically the same boring shit. No way he’d want your dog-eared adventure novels.

Also you’re _you_. You can handle a sword and a knife, and you’ve surprised people with your strength before.

So you follow him into the woods.

Levi’s easy to train with, and pushes himself as hard as you do. It’s a relief; you expected someone as talented as him to half-ass every practice in a misguided belief that they had nothing left to learn. He wants to work on distraction and evasion techniques, meant to help offensive attacks come in from behind a Titan. It’s fine by you. You’re a firm believer in never approaching a Titan from the front, if you can avoid it.

He seems used to giving orders—or at least, coming up with plans. It’s easy to trust in his skill, and you don’t mind trusting his ideas, either. But when you suggest new configurations, he immediately agrees to give them a shot, and defers to you as the exercise runs its course. There’s a sense of trade to it, an easy back-and-forth.

“That was good,” he says afterward, as the two of you head back across the grounds. “Let’s do that again sometime.”

“Let’s,” you agree. “But you…”

He waits, a brow up.

“You’re obviously better than anyone else here,” you say. “Why do you want to train with me?”

He’s quiet so long, it seems like he’s ignoring the question. Then he says, “I’m used to working on my own. I’ve been told I need to focus more on teamwork.”

Hmm. According to the rumors, he was attached at the hip to the pair he came here with, and that doesn’t seem like _working on my own_. But depending on how they used to do things…the Survey Corps relies on strategizing in groups of two or more to take down Titans. Loners are the first ones to get picked off, if their solitary streak survives basic training.

You say, “Then let’s focus on teamwork.”

Once again, you’re almost sure that’ll be the end of it.

But over the next few weeks, you train together with the gear twice more. Once in the training yard—the kind for hand-to-hand combat—he asks if you want to spar, but you’ve just gone a few rounds with some of your own squad and can barely muster the energy to refuse.

One morning at breakfast—too early for Raoul and Kel and most of the Corps; hell, too early for _you_ , you’re barely conscious enough to drink your shitty tea and reread the latest _Slade Silvertongue_ for the third time _—_ Levi sits down across from you without a word, and with a stack of paperwork. Plus tea and an apple.

“The hell is that,” you say, staring at the pages. “Grunts like us don’t have to consolidate inventory reports.”

But he’s already digging into the work. “You do if you tell your squad leader to fuck off.”

You nearly snort tea. “Yeah, that’d do it.”

“If he wasn’t being such a jackass, maybe I wouldn’t have.”

“What’d he do?”

“Thinks he’s clever.”

Could this have anything to do with the title people have started throwing around? You heard Levi’s squad leader hoot it on the way back to the wall after the last expedition: _Humanity’s Strongest._ Levi’s hatred for it couldn’t be more clear. You can’t imagine the pressure. The insult of it, too. Half the Corps worships him, but the rest still call him a thug behind his back and give him a wide berth in the halls.

“Morning.”

The new voice makes you both look up, and oh—it’s him. Erwin Smith, Captain Boring himself, paused at the end of your table. The windows behind him silhouette him in morning light. “Levi,” he says. “I—”

“Great,” mutters Levi, turning back to his paperwork. “Gotta hear it from you, too, do I.”

To your surprise, Smith’s face breaks into an unguarded, amused sort of look that suggests long-suffering fondness.

Can’t blame him. You haven’t known Levi very long, but long-suffering fondness seems to be a theme.

You find yourself hiding a smile in your teacup.

“Get on with it,” Levi tells Smith. “No excuse for what I said to Remick, three weeks mopping up in the workshop, as if cleaning is an actual punishment—”

“Remick is a fool after his own glory,” says Smith, quiet. “Transferring you to his unit after Flagon’s was an oversight. We should have corrected it long ago. If you approve, I’m having you transferred to a new squad.”

Levi squints at him.

Somehow it doesn’t surprise you that he’s suspicious of any kindness. To be honest, you’re suspicious of it, too. Corps higher-ups aren’t exactly known for rewarding insubordination.

“Whose squad?” asks Levi.

“Miche’s.”

Levi scowls. “ _No_.”

All right, time to scram. Let them fight this out. You shut your book, gathering your things. “So I’m gonna go—”

“Please stay,” says Smith, his attention swiveling to you. “I’m the one intruding.” Then he catches sight of your book. His head gives a curious little tilt, his smile growing. “Slade Silvertongue?”

Your face warms. “Yeah?”

Smith nods once, delighted. “Good choice.”

 _Good choice?_ These novels are about the ridiculous adventures of a retired hitman for the mob who keeps getting pulled back into the life. Chock full of high-stakes shenanigans, and often, explicit-as-hell romance. Somebody boring as Smith should prefer, like, military biographies. The classics. Philosophy. Not lowbrow romps into the absurd like Slade fucking Silvertongue.

He’s already turned back to Levi. “I intend to find you a position where you can thrive. Will you stop by my office after the one o’clock bell?”

“Fine,” Levi grunts into his tea—his hand, really.

“Good.” As Smith turns to go, he adds your way, “Only a few months until the next book release.”

You stare after him, the _I know_ caught in your throat. What in the hell? He reads Slade Silvertongue, _and_ he’s so up-to-date he knows when the next one is coming out?

“Bookworms,” Levi huffs, eyes on his paperwork again. “I bet you two would get along.”

Your attention snaps back to him. “Me? And Captain Boring?”

He smirks. “Not that boring.”

“He _looks_ boring.”

“For an officer, he could be worse.”

“What’s so special about him?”

Levi’s brows do a considering little shift. “Vision, maybe. He’s got more than anybody I’ve ever met.”

“Is that all?” Vision practically grows on trees around here.

“Not like the others. I think he actually believes it can end. The war. The Titans. He...sees something the others don’t. Whatever it is, it keeps him driven. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him not working. Most of the other officers find a way to pass their shit along.” He hefts the pile in front of him, a case in point. “Not Erwin.”

It’s the most Levi has ever said to you in one go.

You lift and lower your brows. “First-name basis, huh.”

Levi scoffs. “I’m not calling that smug asshole _captain_.”

Unsurprising. He didn’t even bother with a salute. But then again, neither did you, and Smith just let that slide. Like you’re _equals_.

What a weirdo. But a weirdo with vision, apparently. Whatever—no use lingering on it. Not like you’ll ever have occasion to talk to him again.

You put him out of your mind and turn back to your book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you need some happiness between the trio, might i interest you in [ this porny one-shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27907933) i wrote about them, set in this same fic-verse?
> 
> til next time!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for waiting—and for all the lovely words and kudos! aah! absolutely overjoyed that you're digging this.
> 
> 💖

_Now. Shiganshina. 850._

The house stands in the shadow of the wall, one of the few with a roof intact. Inside, it scarcely looks lived in. The back garden is long overgrown, window boxes wild with familiar purple flowers. The water pump works. The water even runs clear, after a few moments.

Between you and Levi and Hange, you clean the worst of the blood from Erwin’s side, then bind the wound back up again with fresh linens. But before long, the three of you are just—standing there, beside the bed where you’ve laid him. Nothing else to do.

His face is so relaxed. He looks almost boyish. Doubly so, with the hair that’s fallen across his forehead again. You’ll have to smooth it out before you leave.

“I think,” says Hange, “I’d like a moment to say goodbye on my own.” They smile, watery, glancing at the two of you. “Then I’ll leave you to yours.”

You forget, sometimes, that Hange’s known Erwin even longer than you and Levi. Miche knew him longest, but…fuck, it’s weird to feel that familiar pang, here, in this context: _I miss Miche._

You miss a lot of people. The list only grew today.

You and Levi shuffle back downstairs. For a moment, you both stand there at the landing. Not exactly facing one another, not exactly not.

You don’t know what to say. Or do.

It’s occurring to you that you have no idea what the hell you and Levi _are_ without Erwin. _Is there a chance he wants to stay together? That we could try this on our own?_

It feels like too much to hope for. Too much to ask—

“Those flowers in the window box,” Levi says. “They the same kind growing outside the barracks?”

 _That’s_ where you’ve seen them. “Thought so.”

He nods. He strides out the back door, into the garden.

You busy yourself snooping around the ground floor. If you think about anything else, you’ll fall to pieces.

Before long, Hange comes down the creaking steps. You turn away from the dusty liquor collection you’ve just discovered and go to meet them.

“All right,” they say, brushing at their remaining eye. Their goggles are still pushed up against their forehead. “I’m going to head back to the wall, check on Armin. You two take as long as you need.”

You nod, grateful, and then just…aching. “Hange,” you say, “that’s really—nobody else from our squad…”

“It’s just us.” Their lower lip trembles. “Not even _us_ , anymore, once we get back. Can’t be your squad leader if I’m commander.” They manage a smile. “Might have to finally promote you.”

Terror lurches in your heart, but you tamp it down. You can protest later. “Maybe.”

They nod. “Be careful. Reiner and the rest seem long gone, but we can’t be sure.”

“Understood.” You start to salute, but something in Hange’s face falls. They pull you into an embrace.

The bruised parts of you protest a little. But the rest of you—you wrap yourself around Hange and cling. _Do not cry yet,_ you think fiercely. You’re keeping it together by a fraying thread, and you won’t let one hug destroy you when you’ve still got to say goodbye to Erwin.

When Hange releases you, you turn to the steps. Hands clenched, you start to climb.

***

Afterward, Levi is waiting in the overgrown garden. “All yours,” you rasp.

He brushes past you without speaking. He’s found the shop’s liquor stash, too, judging by the bottle in his hand—but it’s been opened, emptied, and refilled, purple flowers spilling from the neck.

You use the water pump to wet a corner of your cloak and clear the blood off your face, carefully avoiding the cut itself. When you meet up with the others, someone can treat it with a proper disinfectant.

Done, you sink down against the wall near the back door. Fuck, your head hurts. You shoulder hurts, your hip hurts, your neck has a crick in it.

You sleeve away more tears. They aren’t just for Erwin. It’s the fact that you’re going back to Trost with just ten people. It’s the fact that there’s finally nothing left between you and that fucking basement, and the person who wanted to see it most isn’t here for it.

It’s the fact that, for all you and Levi chafe against one another, lately it’s felt as though you could’ve been building toward something new. Something better. But without Erwin, how can—

The door beside you creaks open. You wait for it: a cool, distant command to get your shit together, because there’s still work to do.

Instead Levi plants his back against the wall and slides down onto the ground beside you. His left shoulder presses tightly to your right, his knees drawn up like yours. Erwin’s turquoise stone shines on the outside of his fist, the cord wrapped tightly around his fingers. His eyes are wide, _lost_. Wet, before he covers them with his empty hand. From beneath his palm, more tears follow the tracks already there.

You didn’t think your heart could break any further, but the shitty surprises just keep on coming today.

It usually takes a whole lot of patience—and a whole lot of Erwin—for Levi to accept any kind of comfort, even when he craves it. But damn, you need it as much as he does. You hook a palm around the top of his closest knee and hope for the best.

Immediately, he grips your hand, the cord from that tie digging in, your bones practically grinding together.

You stare at the connection, surprised. Whatever comfort the two of you found in each other over the last five years, it’s rarely been anything more than a shared word. A sparring session. Tea in the mess hall, late at night. It’s almost never _touch_ unless you’re already in bed.

You squeeze his hand and let him cry it out, still brushing away your own tears. At last, he pulls out a handkerchief. He releases you to hide his whole face in it.

“Fuck,” he mutters, emerging, drier but no less broken-looking.

You grip the straps at your knees, fingers looped. “Levi?”

“Yeah.”

You want, desperately, to ask if he would have chosen differently if you’d been there, when he was deciding between Erwin and Armin. But what’s the point? It won’t change anything. _Let what’s done stay done._

So instead you try, “What actually—” It catches in your throat. “I need you to tell me exactly what happened on the other side of that wall. Hange gave me the basics, but…”

His throat bobs. “All right.”

He tells you everything. The rocks. The plan. The speech. How he watched the Scouts ride out as he struck down Titans like skipping stones across a pond.

He tells you what he and Erwin said to each other behind that house. The choice Erwin couldn’t make, and none-so-subtly asked Levi to make for him.

Fuck, it was no secret between you three, how badly Erwin wanted those answers. And why. But that Levi could help him let go of it…

“He fucking… _thanked_ _me_ ,” Levi winds down. “For forcing him into that. I don’t…”

It makes sense to you. “You saved him.”

Levi’s eyes flash to yours, gutted. “What?”

“Getting those answers was _his_ wish.” _Shades of mine, too._ “And you both knew it. You helped him let go and choose…everyone else. The option he could live with.” If he’d survived. “And you didn’t force him. He doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

“Well, it was a waste.” A slightly strangled note surfaces in Levi’s voice. “That beast piece of shit got away. I—I _had him_ , and I…” His chest hitches. “They all rode out so I could take it down. _Erwin_ rode out so I could take it down, and…”

“We’ll get him.”

“You don’t know—”

“We’ll get him,” you say again, “if we have to hunt him down ourselves. I’m not gonna let that shit stand. Are you?”

His eyes close, briefly. “No.”

In the quiet, birds call to one another from the roof. The overgrown plants rustle in the breeze.

“He wanted me to tell you something,” Levi says, voice still a little rough. “If you made it. We weren’t sure.”

Your breath catches.

“He said he knew if you’d been there…” A furrow forms between Levi’s brows. “…you would’ve ridden at his side for that final charge. But he was so relieved he didn’t have to ask. Just knowing you’d understand him—that you’d forgive him for wavering—he said that was enough for him. That it helped give him the strength to do it.”

It’s your turn to hide your face in your hand. You haven’t wept so much in years. The tap won’t close. It wasn’t even this bad for Miche and Nanaba, though granted, there wasn’t time to process any of that until long after the fact, and then in bits and pieces. Raoul and Kel may’ve been the last time.

Kind of absurd, that you’ve come so far since then, but here you are again—side by side with Levi, wondering what you are to him.

“So you two,” you say at last, when you trust you can speak without it breaking. “You got to say goodbye, at least.”

“Shitty excuse for one, but. Yeah.”

You watch his pulse drum in the side of his throat, visible in the tension. It’s—he must be doing that _thing,_ where he’s working himself up to saying something he usually wouldn’t.

You don’t encourage him. That’s how it goes. You avoid pushing, and he sees he’s got the space to share when he’s ready.

And he does. “When it was time, we…I tried to walk away. Erwin didn’t let me. He grabbed my hand and pulled me back and kissed me. Like it was just…”

“…any other morning,” you whisper.

“Yeah.” It cracks.

That’s how mornings go, in Erwin’s room. Levi almost makes it to the door, but Erwin always catches his hand and tugs him back for a kiss—Erwin delighted, Levi pretending not to be and terrible at hiding it.

You gulp. “Was it good, at least?”

He scoffs, but it’s shaky. “No, it wasn’t good. It was awful.” Then: “Yeah,” he says, quieter. “It was good. It was—” Muscles flare in his jaw. His eyes are filling. “It was good.”

“But it wasn’t enough,” you guess, and try not to shatter when that’s what makes tears roll down his face again.

He smears them away. “I’ll show you. Once I get it together.”

You blink at him. He’s—fuck. He’s offering to give you his and Erwin’s last kiss with one of his own.

You manage, “You’re allowed to keep things for yourself, you know.”

“I don’t think I can carry this one alone.”

“Okay, then,” you whisper. “When you’re ready.”

You don’t realize you’re staring into the turquoise of that bolo tie until Levi says, “Did you take something? You should.”

You dig Erwin’s silver lighter out of your pocket and hold it up.

Levi’s smile is so faint, but it’s there. “You two and those damn cigarillos.”

“Hey, it’s _barely_ a few times a year. And you’ve smoked ’em, too.”

“Once,” he protests. “Maybe twice.” His eyes are a little clearer as he breathes a long, steadying sigh. “We should probably head back.”

The two of you climb to your feet, straightening jackets, dusting off cloaks, tucking your trinkets away. You turn for the garden gate—

Levi catches your hand and tugs you back, reels you in until you’re nose to nose. His solemn gray-blue eyes search yours.

You understand: _I tried to walk away. He didn’t let me…I’ll show you, once I get it together._

You’ve gone still in hopeful surprise as his hand trails heavily up your sleeve, alights on the side of your face. When his gaze drops to your mouth, heat unfolds inside you, a swift, consuming desperation you didn’t think possible to summon here. You close your eyes against it, breath catching.

He murmurs, “It was like this.”

His lips nudge yours, soft and careful and clinging. Then they part, coaxing yours open, too—

You ease back just enough to beg, “Show me how you—” And as he kisses you, deeper now, he pulls your right hand up to his jaw, brings your left hand to his side and curls your fingers around the straps there.

His mouth begins to pluck at yours slower, retreating until you're connected by only a scant brush of slack lips—and then he delves back in, deeper than before. Like he meant to end it and then couldn’t. Like he—like _Erwin_ was desperate not to let go. Levi’s right arm is hanging but his left works into your hair, cradling you exactly the way Erwin always does.

_Did._

Levi was right: it’s awful. And it’s good, too. 

When it ends, his forehead tilts against yours; you pant against each other’s lips. Your hand still cups his jaw. At his side, your knuckles dig into muscle, warm, hitching with each breath. You want to thank him. You want to kiss him again. You want—

On a splash of terrified adrenaline, you remember: _it was a goodbye kiss._

_He’s about to tell me it’s over. With Erwin gone, there’s nothing left for us._

You can’t handle so much loss in one day. Whatever the two of you were, whatever it makes you now, whatever you _want_ to be still—you’ll shatter if he tells you it’s over before you can figure it out.

You release him and turn toward the gate. “Let’s go. Hange probably misses us.”

It takes him full seconds to respond, your fear thrumming against the silence, until he says, “Probably right.”

He follows you out of the garden. Neither of you look back.

*

*

*

_Then. Outside Shiganshina. 844._

The first snowfall of the season blankets the morning in ankle-deep white—perfect weather for a ride. On the way out of the mess hall, grabbing an apple for Gem, you spot Levi hovering in the open doorway. He’s staring up into the slow drift of snowflakes.

You’re far enough away, and the hall is empty. For a moment you just watch him, fascinated. He’s practically wide-eyed with wonder.

“He’s back out there, is he?”

You turn to find Captain Bor—Captain _Smith_ , his blue eyes fixed on Levi, apparently still unconcerned with whether or not you salute. So you don’t. “‘Back out there’?”

Fondness radiates from Smith again. “Ran into him last night, doing the same thing.”

A spark of jealousy sizzles through you, as intense as it is surprising. Does Smith get to see a side of Levi you never will? And _come on_ , where did that thought even come from? Why do you care? You and Levi are friends. No more, no less. And that’s _great_.

You manage, “Guess the Underground isn’t exactly a ski resort.”

“No.” Smith turns his smile on you, then notices your riding gloves. “If you’re going for a ride, I bet he’d go with you.” And he’s gone, heading back up the hall.

It hadn’t occurred to you to ask, but suddenly, it’s all you want. _Might as well give it a shot_.

Levi’s wide-eyed wonder vanishes as soon as he hears your footsteps, but his automatic scowl fades a touch when he sees that it’s you.

“Morning,” you say. “I’m going riding with Raoul and Kel. You wanna come with?”

His hesitation is more consideration than you thought you’d get. But then he says, “Meet you at the stables in five.”

The training route through the snowy woods is as good a riding path as any, the trail a smooth, unbroken ribbon of white. Raoul and Kel are chatty today, wild with energy and cheer. They ride just ahead of you and Levi.

“So Levi,” says Raoul, twisting in the saddle, mischief in his grin. “We really don’t know that much about you, aside from the fact that you’re always stealing our friend away.”

You wish desperately for a snowball to hurl at his nose.

“ _Yeah_ ,” says Kel. “And she never tells us anything. We want to learn more about you. Where you come from. All of that.”

You turn to Levi. “So should I throttle them alone, or do you want in on it, too?”

To anyone else, his face would be blank. But you’re getting better at learning the subtleties within it. Right now, you spot the briefest flicker of warmth in his eyes. He may as well have laughed out loud. “She wouldn’t have much to say,” he tells your friends. “She’s never asked me.”

Kel scoffs at you. “Isn’t that step one of most friendships?”

“Everybody else bothers you enough about that stuff already,” you mutter to Levi. “If you wanted to talk about it, you would.”

“You never talk about your past, either,” he points out.

“That’s different. You’re still on the hook for guessing, remember.” It’s become a game between you two. During your first conversation, months ago, he’d guessed what you were before you joined the Scouts. Now he’ll bring things up out of the blue. _Trick rider. Traveling circus performer._ It’s all ridiculous.

Not that you have any intention of stopping him.

But he sighs, breath pluming into the cold air, and turns to your friends. “What do you want to know?”

Immediately, Kel says, “Where’d you learn to use the gear like that?”

“Taught myself.”

“Really?” Raoul is thrilled. “How’d you even get it, anyway?”

“Killed a guy,” Levi says, but his eyes dart to yours with a flash of mirth.

Raoul and Kel gape at him.

You stifle laughter. “He’s joking.”

“We stole it,” Levi amends. “Or we traded for it, off crooked MPs.”

“Who’s ‘we?’” asks Kel.

Muscles clench in Levi’s jaw. “No one.”

Quickly, Raoul jumps in to ask about his reverse-grip technique.

When you reach the three-mile marker, everyone turns around. Kel, nudging her horse ahead, yells at Raoul, “Race you back!” Their horses kick up clods of mud and snow as they disappear up the trail.

The quiet is almost a relief, after all that. For awhile, you two just ride in companionable silence—until you can’t hold it back anymore: “For the record, just because I don’t ask doesn’t mean I’m not curious.”

“You could ask. I’d tell you.” Levi puts the subtlest emphasis on that last _you_.

You steer Gem around a fallen log, trying to interpret your quickened heartbeat. “You ever miss it? The Underground?”

“No.” It’s swift. And then, after a moment, “Some things. Sometimes. Easier to know where I stood with people. They didn’t go behind your back if they had a problem with you.”

“And soldiers more or less live on gossip.”

“So I’ve learned.” After a moment, he adds, “Most people ask about the crime.”

“Should I ask about the crime?”

“Do whatever you want.”

“The crime doesn’t really interest me.” Everybody’s done questionable things to survive. It doesn’t bother you, if that’s what his past is full of. _Let what’s done stay done,_ Slade always says. “Unless you’ve got a bunch of heists on your roster.”

“ _Heists?_ Is that what happens in all those paperbacks? Slade Shit-for-brains?”

You grin. “Oh, definitely. Heists galore.”

The path turns, the base coming back into view. Levi says, “I didn’t really kill someone to get the gear.”

“Figured.”

“But I’ve killed others.”

It should make you go cold. Cold _er_ , anyway. But after so many rumors, it doesn’t surprise you. And since getting to know him, seeing evidence of his warmth, you know you’re safe. You know _he’s_ safe.

You glance over at him. His face is blank, but the knuckles of his gloves are stretched tight, and his shoulders are taut with tension. You ask, “They deserve it?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

His shoulders relax a fraction. After a moment, he says, “I’m curious about you, too, you know.”

Your cheeks flare hot.

He adds, “Author of Slade Silvertongue?”

You laugh. “I wish.”

“Will you actually tell me if I get it right?”

“I promise.”

“Then I’ll keep guessing.”

 _Please,_ you think, giddy. _Please do_.

***

_Then. Outside Wall Maria. 845._

The second day of the expedition, Levi, Miche, and a soldier you don’t know come riding up alongside your squad leader, Lorena. The trio is grim-eyed, pale in the gray light from the overcast sky. Levi and Miche are both missing a set of blades from their scabbards. And Levi is looking you over head to foot—checking to make sure you’re all right, you realize, surprised.

“Real subtle,” Kel says beside you, barely audible over hoofbeats, and laughs when you glare.

“My squad got separated,” Miche tells Lorena. “It’ll take more than just three of us to keep watch at the outpost.”

“Take some of my people,” Lorena offers. She calls your name and one of the others.

Miche nods his thanks, gesturing you both over.

“Have fun,” Raoul tells you, grinning. “Don’t forget your humble roots when you’re rubbing elbows with the bigshots.”

Kel winks. “I think one of them would rub more than that.”

“Shut _up_.” You’re fighting laughter. “I’ll see you at the rendezvous.”

You ride off with Miche and the others, Levi falling in beside you.

It’s the first expedition since the spring thaw, meant to drop off supplies at the outpost established last autumn, so that next time, the Scouts can go even further. The grass is brilliantly green but damp, hiding pockets of standing water from melted snowdrifts. Above, it’s solid cloud from horizon to horizon. Everything’s been shadowed with the threat of rain since leaving the wall yesterday.

You don’t mind. Being beyond the walls—terrifying as it is, you never feel quite so alive, quite so _free_ , as on this side of Maria. The world seems boundless, as do the possibilities of what you could find. Other walls, maybe—with other people behind them. Mountains tall enough to reach the clouds. Places Titans can’t reach. Whatever’s out there, you want to see it.

At the outpost, Miche assigns you and Levi and a few others to stand guard in the tops of the trees nearby.

The Titan shows up alone. Miche gets wind of it, literally—apparently the stories about his magic schnoz are true—long before it shows. When it does, it’s a twitchy twelve-meter with blank, empty eyes and a grin that makes your skin crawl.

Miche calls to you and Levi, and nods to the Titan. “You’re up.”

With no trees close to it, no way to get around behind it, and no way to safely get in front of it, if it’s an aberrant—“I’ll take out its ankles if you go up top,” you tell Levi. 

He nods. “I’ll cover you if it goes wild.”

You have no idea how the fuck he’d do that, but with his skill and this predicament, you’re not about to waste time asking. You fire your cables.

Your blades bite through flesh and tendon and bone, sending the Titan sprawling. Levi lands on the back of its neck as it falls, and it’s dead before it hits the ground.

Captain Smith is waiting back at the treeline with Miche, both still on horseback. Smith’s eyes are bright with approval. Bright and blue. “That was well done, both of you,” he says.

“She did most of the work,” says Levi. “I just finished it off.”

“Like you couldn’t have taken it down yourself,” you mutter, warm thanks to Smith’s praise and Levi’s, too. Lorena isn’t big on kudos.

The two of you take down two more Titans almost the same way. It really is ridiculous; Levi could easily take them on his own. But he seems dedicated to that teamwork thing. Maybe it has something to do with the way Smith continues to radiate approval. The guy even casts it your way, his curiosity obvious.

You don’t think you mind.

Supplies properly offloaded, the group heads back for the rendezvous point.

When you arrive, it’s busy like always: soldiers feeding horses. Soldiers gathering the dead. Soldiers offering hasty first aid to anyone who needs it before you can get back to base—which better be quick; the wind is rising. Looks like it’s finally going to rain.

You ride up to Lorena, ready to deliver your report. Except when her grim eyes find yours, it occurs to you that none of the people around her are Raoul and Kel, who would’ve greeted you by now.

“What—” It feels muzzy in your mouth, slow and thick. “Where are they?”

She just looks at the row of corpses assembled nearby.

You don’t remember climbing out of the saddle, but you must have, because the next thing you know, you’re on your knees beside them.

What’s left of them, where they’ve been laid out together.

You haven’t wept over fellow soldiers in what feels like years. But the breeze stirs Kel’s hair, flaps Raoul’s collar around, and you find tears cooling on your cheeks.

You help load them into one of the wagons. Then you’re just—standing there by the tailgate, looking at them. A raindrop patters onto your shoulder. Then your hand. Into your hair.

Behind you, someone says your name.

Levi looks so haunted that you wonder who he’s recognized in the pile of dead. He’s leading his horse and Gem, too. He says, “We’re moving out.”

You turn back to Raoul and Kel. “If I’d been there—”

“I know.” He arrives at your side.

“I could’ve…”

He holds out Gem’s reins. “I know.”

The sky opens up on the way back, pouring rain onto the company in a brief but heavy deluge. It seeps through your cloak and jacket, into your clothes.

Back at the base, in the stables, Gem’s brush goes shaking out of your hand. You drop onto a hay bale and put your shoulders against the wall, trying to catch your breath.

You’re not sure how long you’re there when Levi enters the stall without a word and picks up the brush.

Before long, he’s talking softly to Gem as he works—quiet enough that you can’t quite make out the words. He even checks her hooves, like he’d have scraped the mud out if you hadn’t gotten there first.

It is so confusing to you, the people who call him cold and distant. If you’re patient with him, if you give him space, his affection grows to fill it.

Gem deep in her feed bag, Levi comes over to your hay bale and gestures at it, brows up in question.

You scoot.

He sits beside you. His arm feels rock-solid against yours, even through so many layers of damp fabric. He smells like rain and something else. Almost sweet. Intriguingly complex.

Haltingly, Levi asks, “They have family?”

Nobody who’d care about a death notice. “Just me.”

“Been on their squad a long time?”

It means so much, that he’s trying. “Since we were cadets.” Ages ago. A miracle you survived this long. “Shit,” you whisper when tears slip free again. “You don’t need to stick around for this.”

“I didn’t have anyone to sit with me, when my…” His eyes briefly close, his lashes long and dark. “I wish I had.”

Right. He lost his people, too. “Who were they, to you?”

He studies his knees. You’re about to tell him he doesn’t need to talk about it, but then he _does_ talk about it. About them. The people who followed him to the surface. Who made an unbearable life bearable. Who were taken from him on their very first trip beyond the walls. He was too far away to help. In a rainstorm.

No fucking wonder he looked so rattled earlier.

“I can’t believe you’re still here,” you say at last. “With the Corps.”

“It was this or prison.”

You snort. “Not much choice, then.”

“No. But Erwin talked me into giving a damn about staying.”

You latch onto this, glad to think about anything except Raoul and Kel. “Still haven’t had an entire conversation with the guy. I only know we’ve got the same shitty taste in literature.”

The smile Levi smiles…it’s faint, but it’s genuine.

You stare, entranced. It’s so unguarded, the same kind of open fondness you’ve seen in Smith before.

And there it is again—a brief sizzle of jealousy. Over _what_ , though? You’ve got Levi’s friendship, something few others can claim. You don’t want anything else.

But you’ve been telling yourself that for awhile now.

_Who am I trying to convince, here?_

For a moment—just an experiment, nothing more—you let yourself glance at the soft curve of Levi’s mouth before looking away.

Your mind takes the image and _runs_.

Those lips, opening hot against the side of your neck. His strong hands on your hips, anchoring you to the mattress. His face patchy-pink as he gasps up at you in a daze of desperate incoherency—

Levi climbs to his feet. “I’m starting to freeze. We need dry clothes and something to eat.”

You shrug off the fantasies—and remember where you are. What’s happened. “Dunno if I’m hungry.”

“Tea, then.”

Your stomach almost rolls. “Not really craving shitty mess hall tea.”

“It’s better when I make it.”

That perks you up. Tea that _isn’t_ made in bulk and served in insulated carafes?

“Come on,” he says, tapping the side of your shoulder. Brusque. “I’ll make you a cup.”

 _Tea,_ you realize later, when you breathe in the steam and take a sip of the best cup you’ve ever tasted outside the teahouses in Shiganshina proper. That sweet, complex scent you couldn’t place on Levi in the stables. _It’s tea._

He catches you almost-laugh. “What.”

“It’s just—” You heft your cup. “You smell like tea.”

“ _What?_ ” His cheeks go pink.

Which does _nothing_ for the fantasies you’ve tamped down. “I caught a whiff back in the stables. What, do you shower with it?”

“ _No_. It must have—I keep the tin in my clothes chest.”

“That’d do it.” You can’t help but smile. “I didn’t say it was bad.”

He rolls his eyes and looks away. “Shut up and drink your tea.”

But in that quiet, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it way he has, he’s smiling, too.

***

Getting the day off after expeditions seems almost cruel without your friends there to share it. But when you finally straggle into the mess hall the next morning, Levi intercepts you. “Let’s go for a ride,” he says.

You go for a ride.

At dinner, he nods to his table and says, “Sit with me?”

You sit with him. And his friends, who make room for you right away.

Most, you know from passing conversations. Hange, Nanaba, Warren, Dale. Miche. Even Captain Smith joins later, sitting at the far end of the table. Despite the distance, his eyes find yours almost immediately, and his expression goes solemn with wholehearted understanding. There’s no pity in it, no guilt. But it’s clear he knows exactly what you’ve lost, and why you’re at his table. He nods a welcome.

Utterly unsure how to respond, you turn back to the people nearer at hand.

Everyone is friendly and curious. Miche compliments your work in the field, and Hange’s seen you in action, too. They ask point-blank, an almost manic gleam in their specs, if you’ve got any interest in becoming a squad leader.

It hasn’t occurred to you. As far as you know, your talent is chopping up Titans, not leading people. But it certainly gives you something to think about other than your friends.

Levi invites you back the next night.

And the night after that.

On and on, until you’re every bit a part of the group as he is.

And if your heart begins to ache for something more from Levi than just friendship...well. That's nobody's business but yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time will likely take place all in the past, and include MUCH more captain not-so-boring.
> 
> til then!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my gosh _aaaahhh_ , you’re all nice as hell, i did not expect so many sweet comments and kudos??? thank you so freaking much, all of you!!! so glad you’re suffering over these sad babes as much as i am.
> 
> anyway 845-circa timelines and stuff are HARD, apologies for all the shit i’ve made up and jammed in next to the canon stuff.
> 
>  **warnings this time:** here’s where the miscommunication really starts (or at least, stubborn jerkwads refusing to talk through their emotions). also injury and blood, plus canon-typical Scout loss, including some that the reader character feels responsible for. most of this stuff takes place around the middle third! 
> 
> 💖

_Then. Shiganshina. 845._

“Ah, shit,” you say, because here they come through the crowd—Lorena and a few others, actually wearing their uniforms even though this is a festival and nobody wants to think about Scouting when there’s an expedition tomorrow. “We’re about to get made.”

Beside you, Levi glances around the packed, glowing street. “Not if we move.” He slips his hand into yours and pulls.

Your heart lurches; you let him draw you past two game booths and a food vendor, then into a narrow, shadowed alley. He releases you and flattens himself against one side of the alley entrance. You flatten yourself on the opposite side, barely an arm’s width apart.

Levi smirks as he focuses on your passing comrades. You can’t take your eyes off him. Or the genuine delight in his eyes. The heat of his callused grip lingers against your palm.

He hadn’t even wanted to come. At least, not with your whole dinner-table crew who planned on it. “Not big on group activities,” he’d muttered.

“Go with just me, then,” you’d suggested. Casually. As if he could take it or leave it.

But he took it.

And here you are, drifting through the last night of Shiganshina’s midsummer festival. Earlier, you split a paper sack of fried cinnamon-sugar dough. You’ve snorted over people losing games of skill, watched artists sketch penny portraits, inspected the lineup of prize-winning flowers that proud gardeners show off.

You’ve been dodging fellow Scouts, too, both in and out of their uniforms. You and Levi have forgone the uniforms to help stave off recognition—not just as soldiers, but because Levi’s becoming _famous_.

A few expeditions, a few trips to Mitras with Captain Smith and the other brass, and his notoriety is spreading. He hates it, but you can’t deny the effect he has on people—civilians and soldiers alike. When the Scouts pass through Shiganshina on the way beyond the wall, people call out to him from the street. He’s gathered a small following in the training yard, demonstrating techniques and correcting stances. It’s been awhile since you’ve caught people muttering about the thieving, murdering gang leader from the Underground.

Now Levi turns his smirk on you, bright even in the dim alley. He’s been doing that lately. Looking at you without hiding his delight.

Every time, it sets off a sweet ache in your heart, a little flicker of hope. More fantasies have been sprawling through your mind: stolen moments behind the barracks late at night. Stifling each other’s cries with deep, searing kisses. Hands clumsy with need, your knee hitched over the crook of his elbow—

“Nice save,” you say, shoving those thoughts aside.

He shrugs. “I didn’t want to run into them, either. C’mon.”

Back into the glowing streets you go. Pennant-draped, lantern-lit, the sound of fiddlers and drummers carrying over from the main square—which the crowd is drifting toward. The sun has finally set, so it’s time for one big show to end the festival.

You find a space in the crowd with a view of the performance. The air is full of chatter and music, everything washed gold from the lanterns. Dancers in bright costumes flit about the flower-draped obelisk in the center of the square.

You glance over at Levi, ready to ask if he’s actually enjoying himself—

But he’s already staring at you. He looks away, not fast enough to hide the shine of something quietly hopeful in his eyes.

A whole wave of heat washes down your body. You’re _certain_ that’s a look you weren’t meant to see. Levi doesn’t—

Does he?

Is it possible he—

“Oiii, you’re _here!_ ”

It’s Hange, one arm aloft in greeting, the other elbowing through the crowd to arrive at Levi’s side. Miche and Nanaba and Captain Smith trail them.

“Four-eyes,” Levi sighs. “Should’ve known you’d spot us.”

“Miche did,” they say, flapping a hand back at that human tentpole. “Didn’t expect to see _you_ here, Levi.”

“Wow, harsh,” you tease. “Pretty sure not even Levi hates fun.”

Levi huffs. “Depends on the fun.”

“If anything,” you add without thinking, “I’m more surprised to see _him_.” You nod toward Smith.

“Erwin?” Hange glances back; he’s too busy speaking with Miche and Nanaba to notice. “Why?”

“She thinks he’s boring,” explains Levi, and Hange laughs so loudly it draws the attention of several people around you, not to mention Miche, Nanaba, and Smith.

Who come closer, now.

“Ahh, that’s hilarious.” Hange lifts their specs to dab at their eyes. “I keep forgetting you still don’t know each other.”

“Who doesn’t know each other?” Nanaba asks.

“These two.” Hange flaps a hand between you and Smith, and you gulp when your gazes lock.

Smith looks different without the gear. His plainclothes should be as painfully boring as the rest of him—a button-down with his sleeves rolled, gray trousers—but it all _fits_. “It’s true,” he tells you, apologetic but cheery. “Our circles overlap at almost every point except for us.”

“Hey, no worries,” you say, half-aware of the way Levi’s got eyes on you both. “You sound like the busiest guy in the Corps. Not holding it against you.”

“Somebody should,” Levi grumbles. “Been trying to convince him to take a night off.”

Smith’s eyes crinkle with his smile. “I’m here, aren’t I.”

Levi rolls his eyes, fond.

Not for the first time, you wonder, _Have they ever...?_ It wouldn’t be a huge leap. All the time they spend together—and Smith was all Levi had, his first few months with the Scouts.

 _But I’d know by now_. _Wouldn’t I?_

And if they had, if they were still…no way Levi would look at you the way he did.

On the walk back to base, the lot of you stick together through the dispersing crowds. Smith pulls out a pack of cigarillos and a silver lighter. Miche takes a cigarillo, and they pass the lighter back and forth. The scent hits you: clove-y, spicy. A little sweet, a little warm. Makes you think of nights off with Raoul and Kel. “Anybody else?” Smith asks.

 _Fuck it._ “Count me in,” you say. Smith offers you the pack and the lighter both. You make sure not to touch him. Not saluting is one thing; actual contact would be weird as hell. The lighter is heavier than it looks, smooth and warm in your grip. “Didn’t take you two for chimneys,” you tell him and Miche.

“It’s rare.” Smith exhales smoke like steam. “Just for the good nights.”

“This a good night?”

“I’d say so.” That’s from Miche.

Levi walks at your other side, hands in his pockets. After your first hit of your cigarillo—just as delicious as it smelled—you offer it to him between two fingers.

He scoffs. “You think I’d put that shit in my lungs?”

But before you can respond, he plucks it out of your grip.

“Because I do,” he says. “Sometimes.”

“The good nights,” says Erwin, from your other side.

“If you say so,” Levi mutters through the smoke, and then his eyes actually drift shut for a moment. “Mmh. Couldn’t get shit like that below.”

He says that kind of thing to you, sometimes. Puts himself in context of his past. He never does it at dinner, at that long table with the others.

He offers the cigarillo back, and your fingers brush. Trying to ignore the new rush of heat that brings, you take another pull—only to remember that Levi’s mouth was _just_ where yours is now.

Outside the barracks, everyone starts to split, but Levi pauses with you. He’s smiling—not something you’ve got to look for and interpret. Just soft. Affectionate. A little self-conscious. “Thanks for the invite,” he says.

Your face has yet to cool. “Thanks for coming with me. Glad we went.”

“Yeah, me too.” He sighs. “Bright and early tomorrow?”

Right. Expedition in the morning. “You bet.”

And then he’s gone, drifting after Miche and Erwin.

You lean against the outside of the barracks for a long time, giddy, slowly finishing your smoke.

Expedition tomorrow or not, whatever this thing is between you and Levi, you intend to survive long enough to find out.

***

Titans box in the long-range formation until what remains of the left flank merges with the middle column. Your squad is close enough to the vanguard that you can hear Shadis bellow the retreat even over the rain _patpatpat_ ing on your hood, the _zip_ of your wires.

 _Miche Squad was part of the right-side vanguard_ , you remind yourself, climbing back onto Gem, ejecting your battered blades. _He’s fine. Nanaba’s fine. Levi’s fine_. Hange Squad was near the rear. _They’ve gotta be fine, too_.

During the retreat, three Titans thunder out of the mist directly in front of Lorena’s horse, which bucks in fear, throwing her. You’re already leaving the saddle, fresh blades ready.

Titans downed, you mount back up and holler for your squadmates. The only one to emerge is Lorena, hobbling back onto her horse. Her knee is twisted grotesquely, her face chalky-white.

You two catch up with the Scouts—the right flank?—just as the rain stops, as they’re passing through the ruins of a village ahead.

You’re a hundred meters behind them and closing when you see it: two Titans, a ten-meter and a seven-meter, lurching up behind the Scouts. “Shit,” snaps Lorena, reaching for a red flare. “ _Shit!_ ” The flare _CRACK_ s, streaking into the sky. Ahead of you, faces turn. _Good. They know._

“I got ‘em.” You’re already standing in the stirrups, aiming your gear. Your anchors thud hard into a distant steeple; you launch yourself toward those Titans. You’re exhausted, but damn it, you aren’t about to let—

Your wires wobble.

Stones loosen and yank free, spitting out your anchors as the steeple collapses.

You’re too close to the ground, your cables too far extended, to fire again.

_Shit!_

You drop in an arc and land _hard_ on a scabbard, skidding across the half-buried gravel of the road, bouncing with the force of it, rolling, gear scraping, flashes of earth and sky and earth and sky before you flop to a halt in a heap.

Dazed, dizzy, your left arm afire with pain, you look up. There’s a big fucking head looming over you, a big fucking hand reaching. The ten-meter.

Someone shouts your name. You shift your hips just enough to point both cables at a nearby rooftop, and fire.

The _second_ you’re airborne, that huge hand smashes into the ground you just left. You find your footing two rooftops away and jam your back against another steeple, panting.

You look back in time to see a blur of green and black spinning away from the ten-meter’s neck as it crashes to the ground. Before it lands, Levi takes a wedge out of the seven-meter’s neck, too.

Relieved, you get a look at your left arm.

Oh. That’s a lot of blood.

Your sleeve is torn, a gash beneath it where you braced yourself for the first hit. Mud and bits of gravel cling to your palm.

Anchors thud into the wall beside you; gear shrieks and hisses, and then Nanaba lands at a trot, brows furrowed in concern, blades lowered. “Hey!”

“Nanaba.” You nearly gasp it, knees wobbly with relief. _She’s alive. She’s fine._

“You all right?”

“Yeah. Just a scratch.”

“Hell of a scratch. We saw that stone collapse—I thought Levi was gonna lose it. He broke off from the squad to go after you.” She nods toward the steam rising out of the sodden ground. “Miche’s pissed.”

That’s—Levi actually—you manage, “You broke off, too.”

“I was already airborne.” She’s eyeing your arm. “You good to move? I can bind that—”

“I’m good.” Your arm is throbbing, but your heart is pitter-pattering. “Let’s just go and find the main column.”

She looks away, grim. “This _is_ the main column.”

Horror rises up like bile. “It’s that bad?”

“Worse,” she says. “And I think Shadis is losing his shit.”

He doesn’t _seem_ like he’s losing his shit. At least, not until after you get back behind the wall with barely two dozen soldiers. The instant someone in the crowd asks for her son, Shadis has a full-fledged meltdown. You’d love to stay and gape, but the way your arm’s hurting, you nudge Gem along, determined to get back to base.

Levi meets you at the stables. His eyes are wide—horribly vulnerable, as they take in the sight of you, all the blood and mud. He barks for someone to look after the horses, then walks with you to the infirmary.

It’s packed with people, so Levi helps you clean out the wound himself. His hands are twitchy; his voice shakes. “That Titan almost crushed you.”

“But it didn’t.”

He makes an exasperated noise. He can't seem to meet your eyes. If he were anyone else, you'd call this panic.

You pull your busted arm out of his grip. “Hey. It’s just a scratch. I’m fine.”

“You almost weren’t. If you hadn’t gotten out of there—”

“But I did.”

“I was too far away to help—”

Irritation prickles. “It’s not your job to save me.”

“We lost two-thirds of that expedition. I wasn’t about to let you—”

“I am not your responsibility,” you say, baffled. “And we’re alive. That’s what matters.” This is so unlike him. “What’s _with_ you?”

He shakes his head, setting down gauze and iodine. Almost to himself, he mutters, “This was a mistake.”

“What was—”

And one of the physicians arrives.

In their deluge of questions, Levi slips away.

***

The expedition was a disaster even by Survey Corps standards. Almost immediately, gossip begins to circulate about Shadis stepping down.

Captain Smith is on the shortlist of rumored replacements. You want to ask Levi about that—he’d know, of all people—but over the next few days, he practically disappears.

Even when you see him in the mess hall, he sits at the other end of the table and barely speaks to you. When he does, it’s just as brief and impatient as with people he barely knows.

You corner him after the third night in a row of that cold-shouldering. “Hey. When you’re done acting like a jackass, I could stand to spar with somebody skilled enough to avoid my bum arm.”

He brushes past you. “Find someone else.”

Utterly bewildered, you turn after him. “What the hell did I do to piss you off?”

He doesn’t answer.

“What happened?” Nanaba asks one night, when it’s just you and her left after dinner. “I haven’t seen you two speak since the expedition.”

“Hell if I know,” you mutter, except you think you’ve figured it out.

You were injured in the field, proving yourself just as fallible as anyone else. Levi is disappointed in your lack of skill, the sloppiness. He thinks you’re a shit soldier. He can’t respect that, and he certainly doesn’t want to be seen being friends with someone like that.

Well. Well, fuck it.

If he’s going to act like this because of one damn injury, you don’t need his friendship.

***

The day your stitches come out, a Titan taller than the walls destroys Shiganshina’s outer gate. Then one with armor charges through the gap and destroys the inner gate.

And for awhile, there’s no time for anything but work.

***

Things are so bad, they give you a squad of fresh recruits to evacuate a village.

“I can’t take a squad,” you say, incredulous at the corporal who assigns you. “I’m not qualified. We won’t even have the chance to go over formations—”

“You’re just evacuating villages,” she says, tired. Everyone’s tired. Everyone’s been killing Titans nonstop. You lost track of your own kill record on the first day of fighting, and it’s been nearly a week. Your left arm feels ready to give out. “You don’t need to know formations for that.”

You go over some of them anyway on the ride to Risselwald, a fishing village along the eastern curve of Wall Maria. Your squad is an eager, nervous bunch. Most are fifteen or sixteen, but one—a bright-eyed redhead named Nifa—is a little older, and more seasoned. She helps enforce your orders to the kids, keeps an encouraging calm.

At Risselwald, you send three recruits door-to-door and put two on the lookout at both ends of the village, high up on the roofs so they can see. You and Nifa help arrange wagons for people who can’t walk. You help the mayor keep everyone orderly.

You wish for Miche’s nose. Nanaba’s dogged kindness. Hange’s determination. Even the confidence that comes with having Levi at your back, shitty as he’s been lately.

“I can’t believe it,” says Nifa, studying the scene from under her choppy bangs. “Everyone’s really hustling. We just might make it.”

“So far, so good,” you agree, trying to smile back.

With three miles left in the ten-mile journey to Karanese—the closest safe haven—half a dozen Titans catch up with the villagers.

Your youngest squad members are talented, but they’re still fresh recruits.

They panic. Your orders go utterly ignored.

You and Nifa are the only two Scouts left to see the villagers into the city. Your left arm practically dangles from overuse. Steam rises from you in reeking waves as Titan blood evaporates, the villagers all staring with wide eyes.

You get them to the shelter at the town center. Then you check in at the Survey Corps tent and deliver your report to a clerk, legs shaking as you relay the names of the dead recruits.

“You did well out there,” you tell Nifa afterward, because that’s what you’d like to hear, in her position. But you can hear the hollowness in your own voice. “You kept a level head.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Nifa says, her huge eyes gleaming with tears. “They didn’t listen.”

It’s far more decency than you deserve. “Take a break,” you rasp. “Then find someplace you can help.”

She scampers.

You retreat to a nearby alley and give yourself a minute to well and truly lose it. You’ve almost got it back together, too, when someone says, “Slacking off?”

You turn. Levi stands at the mouth of the alley, holding out a waterskin without looking at you. As though he can’t stand his own kindness. He seems just as run-down as everyone else—shadows dragging beneath his eyes, his usual ramrod posture flagging. _Still beautiful,_ thinks the traitorous part of you that hasn’t quite managed to let him go. _Still fighting_.

But you're parched. You take the waterskin. “Finally deigning to speak to me?”

“Just get back to work.” He’s already turning away. “We need every soldier we have.”

Anger flashes through you. “Because we’re running low, thanks to me? Is that what you mean?”

He looks back at you, one brow up. “Care to start making sense?”

If he hasn’t heard, then shit, you’re not about to tell him. “Never mind.” You brush past him and go in search of somewhere you can help.

And someone who gives a damn.

***

_Then. Trost. 845._

“Wait,” says Ian the bartender, pulling taps across from you. “So Titans are spilling out of Shiganshina like a leaky keg, but you Scouts still had to stay and evacuate the base?”

“Too much expensive shit to leave behind,” you say, holding your book open with your left arm. It hasn’t ached in awhile. “Besides, we still needed access to our supplies while we evacuated all those villages. Blades and gas and everything.”

The Survey Corps had created a rolling supply station on the way to Trost. Individual Scouts were allowed to bring a single regulation backpack’s worth of personal items. Apart from some changes of clothes, you stuffed yours with your oldest Slade paperbacks. Kel’s belt-knife that always keeps an edge. Raoul’s fancy embroidered handkerchiefs.

Also four of Hange’s research notebooks. “Please,” they’d said to the mess-hall group of you, near panic since Shadis deemed the contents of their laboratory non-essential. “This is _important_ , I can’t leave these things behind—it’s all our findings on the Titans, everything we know—”

“I have room,” you’d said, slinging your pack off your shoulders. “I’ll take whatever fits.”

Between you and Nanaba and one of Hange’s friends, Moblit—and even Levi—you’d managed to carry most of their research to the new base. Inside Rose, north of Trost.

Ian shakes his head. “And Shadis is still in charge? Even after that fiasco of a mission where only—how many of you came back?”

“Twenty-five. And not for much longer.” You’re keeping your voice down, not that anyone’s paying attention. It’s crowded and noisy in here, and anyway, the bar is too far from HQ to be packed with Scouts. “Word is, they’ll pick a new commander by the end of the year.”

“Ooh. Soon, then.”

“ _Oi, Ian!_ ” It’s the tavern owner, further down the bar. “Waiting on drinks!”

“Yeah, yeah!” Ian points at you, a friendly _don’t-go-anywhere_. “To be continued.”

You turn back to your book, pleased. You and some of the other Scouts became regulars at Ian’s bar back in Shiganshina. He’s lucky he found work here.

Someone beside you says, “Still reading Slade Silvertongue?”

You look up—and into blue.

Every shade of blue. Sky to indigo to midnight.

Okay, you have _never_ gotten this close a look at Captain Smith before. You’ve barely seen him at all since Maria fell. Since he’s been on the shortlist for the next commander of the Survey Corps.

He wears plainclothes, same as the night of the midsummer festival—the night before everything fell apart. But it’s well into winter now, and he’s wearing the hell out of a casual gray jacket over a white button-down. Everything about his relaxed body language says he’s going to step away the second Ian puts a drink in his huge mitts.

And the soft way he’s smiling has thrown you completely off-guard. You scramble to recover. “Damn,” you say, hoping he hears the tease. “I drink this far away from the base to _avoid_ other Scouts.”

“Then we have that in common, too.” His whiskey arrives. “Thanks, Ian.” He starts to turn away. “I’ll leave you and Slade to it.”

Unlike men who think you reading alone is an invitation, Smith seems to get it. A moment’s worth of conversation, then withdrawing, giving you the chance to stop him, if you want.

And shit, you…you kind of want. You’re curious, at least.

Also he knows Ian by name, so that’s a mark in his favor. You say, “So you read Slade, too?”

Smith pauses, delight warming those blue eyes. “I have for a long time. Some of my favorites. I only just finished the newest one last week.”

“You found a copy?” You’re genuinely surprised. “The shop I go to hasn’t been able to keep one in stock.”

“The bookseller on Market Street—I’ve known him for years. He set one aside for me.”

“How was it? After that last cliffhanger, I—” Then you collect yourself, embarrassed. “You probably need to get back to your people.”

Smith lifts a considering brow and glances somewhere aft of you. Damn, that smile is gonna be trouble. “They can entertain themselves.”

You wonder who _they_ are, but you don’t want to twist around and make yourself completely obvious. If it was any of your friends, they’d have told you about their plans already.

“And yes,” he says, “the best follow-up in years. But then again, I _like_ Rodrigo.”

“Wait.” You can barely contain your excitement. “Rodrigo’s back?”

“Oh, with a vengeance.”

And then you’re off and chatting.

Smith has read these books for years, same as you. He likes adventure stories, same as you. You can’t get over the shock. Everything you’ve seen of this golden boy suggests a reserved, wise soldier whose sole purpose in life is brown-nosing the top brass and advancing up the ranks.

But you’re starting to understand why people like him. There’s an intensity to him when his focus is on you. A spark of humor in those blue eyes. You get the sense of insatiable curiosity, of still waters that run deep.

“I’m glad we got the chance to speak,” he says. “I kept meaning to get to know you better, but then Wall Maria…”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain it to me.”

He takes a bracing swallow of his drink, throat bobbing. “I read about the good work you did for Risselwald.”

It feels like a bucket of cold water tipping over your head. You look back down at your book, closed by now. “Not sure who was calling it ‘good work.’”

His eyes narrow. “You saved two hundred civilians.”

“Got five cadets killed, too.”

He sets his whiskey down. “You blame yourself?”

Your scoff sounds a little too much like Levi for your liking. “If you were there, you’d blame me, too.”

But Smith pins you with a look you recognize from when you first joined Levi’s table months ago, after you lost Raoul and Kel. A deep understanding that says he’s gone through exactly this. Guilt, anxiety, and nightmares included. “They were cadets,” he says. “They were too young to instinctively trust their superior officer in the heat of combat. Their panic would’ve made them doubt or freeze no matter who gave the orders. We were no different, at that age.”

He’s got you there. It took years to learn how to move despite the panic, to trust that your superiors knew what they were doing.

“Just don’t forget who’s really at fault,” says Smith. “The Titans killed those recruits. Not you.”

You nearly scoff again, because of course the Titans killed them.

But the way he says it—fuck, _of course_. Of course the Titans killed them. It’s not on you. Not entirely on you, anyway. Not as much as you’ve been shouldering the blame.

Smith leans on his folded arms on the bar, close in the crowded space. “And you wouldn’t have seen the rest of the report. The statements our clerks collected from survivors. I have the mayor of Risselwald and a dozen villagers on record, saying that you not only saved them all and took down four Titans on your own, but that you did everything you could to save those cadets.”

You’re staring at your dwindling ale.

“From what I’ve seen and heard,” Smith says, “you’re an excellent soldier. You keep a cool head, and you’re just as skilled as any of the squad leaders. Have you given any thought to becoming an officer?”

“I haven’t.” It’s no different than when Hange asked you the same thing earlier this year. “I—I didn’t want that assignment anyway. I don’t want lives in my hands. I just want to kill Titans.”

“Then the Corps is lucky to have you.”

 _There_ it is, the kind of canned bullshit you suspected he’d have at the ready. Except—except the way he says it, all quietly sincere, it doesn’t sound like schlock. It sounds like he means it.

Flustered, desperate for a subject change, you say, “If you’re considering officers, Levi’s probably way more ready for it.”

“I almost forgot you two are close.”

Oh, boy. “Is that what he says?”

Smith’s significant brows furrow. “Did something change?”

“You could say that.”

“I won’t pry.”

That makes you smile. “But you want to.”

He smiles, too. “I can’t say I don’t enjoy gossip.”

Hadn’t you said almost the same thing to Levi, once? _Soldiers practically live on gossip_. Except you get the feeling that Smith might use it like a weapon. Or—not a weapon. A tool.

“Well,” you say, because who can it hurt? “I thought we were close. But since that last expedition, he just…I don’t know what happened. If I pissed him off, or. Or what.” It hits you, then, how hurt you really are. “He won’t even talk to me.”

Smith studies his whiskey. “He can be difficult.”

“Tell me about it. And shit—I can find someone else to vent to who isn’t his friend. And my superior freaking officer.”

“That’s probably for the best.” Except he’s smiling again. “But we’re off-base. I’ll let it slide this time.”

Oh. Yeah. That’s—yes. “Deal.”

His eyes dance. “I should get back to my table. Would you like to join us?”

Much as you appreciate it, you’re winding down. “I’m about ready to call it a night. But hey.” You feel warm all over. “Thanks, for what you said about...everything. I think I needed to hear that.”

He smiles like he’s relieved. “It was no trouble. I hope we see each other again, when we’re avoiding other Scouts.”

And he's gone.

You’re digging out your coin purse, ready to cash out, when a voice at your elbow drawls, “A few minutes of attention, and suddenly he’s not so boring.”

You turn to find Levi, unsmiling, his empty glass on the bar while he waits for another.

“I should’ve known you’d be here,” you grumble. “You’re worse than a lapdog, the way you follow him around.”

“Big talk from someone getting starry-eyed after just five minutes of conversation about whatever trash novels—”

“We were talking,” you hiss, “about Risselwald.”

He has the decency to look appalled, at least.

“The hell is it to you, anyway,” you say, setting coins on the bar. “Just because you and I aren’t friends doesn’t mean I can’t have them at all.”

“Just trying to help you look less desperate. People can _see you_.”

You swivel broadly around, hands spread, taking in the whole of the bar. No one is looking your way. Not even Smith. “Pretty sure you’re the only one watching, asshole.” You hop out of your seat and leave him there.

The next day, a package is waiting for you at the mail post. It’s the newest Slade Silvertongue, a little dog-eared, but the spine is still tight, the cover pristine. A note is tucked into it, written in neat, blocky handwriting:

_No need to give it back, but I expect a report at your earliest convenience._

_—E. S._

***

The door stands slightly ajar. When you knock, Smith calls, “Come in,” so you press inside.

His office smells like night air; the windows are open, squares of darkness behind the soft gold glow of the lamps. It smells faintly of citrus, too, like it’s been cleaned recently. The place is tidy, a little sparse. Heavy bookshelves frame walls to the left and right, though only a few shelves are filled.

And—oh. Both Smith and Shadis look up from the desk.

Your face incinerates. You snap into a salute. The book behind your back feels ridiculous.

Shadis gives you a flat, expectant stare, but Smith is already smiling, greeting you all proper, _Private_ in front of your name and everything. “I was expecting you,” he says, though this is impromptu. “Keith, let’s continue this tomorrow.”

Shadis sighs. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

You hold the salute as Shadis passes you. _Captain Boring just kicked the commander out of his office for me_.

Shadis leaves the door wide open. Smith doesn’t tell you to close it, so you leave it and step closer, giving yourself permission to stand at ease. “Sorry to interrupt. Miche said I should stop by any time.”

“Miche was right. And you didn’t interrupt. We were going in circles. I was looking for an excuse to send him away.” Smith gestures hopefully to one of the two seats in front of his desk.

You sit. He looks so genuinely pleased to see you that you almost don’t know what to do with it. You blurt, “Does it always smell like citrus in here?”

His smile broadens. “You can thank Levi for that. He thinks I’m a slob, so he cleans up a few times a week. Whatever he uses—I think there’s lemon in it.”

You’d forgotten, in the midst of your neverending snark-fests, how meticulously Levi cares for his gear and clothes and, according to Miche, his rack space. “So the tidiness is his handiwork.”

“Almost entirely. He’s, ah. Not wrong, about the slob part.”

But you didn’t come here to talk about Levi. “I wanted to thank you,” you say. “This was—you were right, this was great.” You waggle the book in your hand before setting it on his desk.

“You read quickly,” he says, delighted. “But I told you you could keep it.”

It seemed too intimate. Too much, too soon, from a man whose orders could land you in a Titan’s belly. “I don’t really have the space for more books.”

“Then I’ll keep it here, since I do.” He glances at his near-empty shelves, wistful. How much did he leave behind at the old base? He adds, “You’re welcome to borrow it again. You seem just as much of a re-reader as I am.”

“I’m still surprised you read them at all,” you admit. “Or adventure stories in general. Since you…kind of have a reputation as a guy too busy for fun.”

He smirks. “That’s unfortunate. But adventure stories are one of my good things.”

It’s a passing slip of a Slade reference—the full quote is _find your good things, and don’t let go_ —but that he’s read enough to quote it offhandedly makes you giddy. “Mine, too. Definitely not letting go.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up even further. “So. What’d you think?”

It bursts out of you: “Rodrigo _actually_ _convinced_ Slade’s brother to betray him!”

“Can you believe I’m still his fan, after that?”

“Oh, sure. It’s not his fault the syndicate lied to him about Slade.”

It’s like back at the bar—the conversation takes right off, no turning back.

The nine o’clock bell finally startles you both, noisy through the open windows. You’ve been in here nearly an hour and a half. “Shit,” you breathe. “I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”

“It’s time well spent. And I think you underestimate my ability to talk about Slade.” Erwin’s eyes shine in the lamplight. “Next time, you should bring me something from your library.”

You’re rising; you know a dismissal when you hear one. “Next time?”

“I hope you’ll come by again.”

Stepping into the hall, you only just hold back a little squeak of delight.

Good fucking thing, too. Levi is leaning against the wall a few paces outside Erwin’s office door. Arms folded. Brows low. “Pathetic,” he scoffs.

“Who, you? Definitely.”

He rolls his eyes, but strides past you, into Erwin’s office. His narrowed eyes stay locked on yours as and until the door shuts with a _snap_.

It hits you like a crashing fall into muddied gravel: the answer to _Have they ever…?_ is a resounding _no_.

But Levi wants them to.

And he must think that you want Erwin, too.

You nearly laugh out loud. You’re nowhere near desperate enough to think of Captain—no, likely soon-to-be _Commander_ Boring that way.

Even if he’s clearly brilliant and shares your exact taste in books. Even if he wants to get to know you better. Even if those big hands are beautiful, those shoulders broad, those eyes intense.

If you and Erwin are anything, you’re friends.

No more, no less.

And that’s _great_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …keep tellin yourself that babe.
> 
> find me between updates on twitter @[shinzouing](https://twitter.com/shinzouing), where i'm generally suffering over the show and manga both.
> 
> catch you next time!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! i can barely handle the nice comments and kudos you left last time, i just, _eeeee_ , i’m so glad you’re with me and enjoying this! thank you so much ;n;
> 
> there’s a split second of Actual Science in this chapter, but i’ve paraphrased from my fave vidja game to describe it, so thx for the assist, aloy of the nora. also, apologies to people already proficient at waltzing and the mockery i make of it here.
> 
>  **warnings for this chapter:** gratuitous fantasizing that approaches the E rating but doesn't quite get us there, selective disregard of canon geography, self-indulgent frippery (as if this whole thing isn't that already, but really this time)
> 
> 💖

_Then. Outside Trost. 846._

“Oh, good. Come in.” Erwin waves you into his office, barely looking up from the reams of paper in front of him. “I wanted to ask you about something. Some _things._ Shut the door?”

Your heart skips pleasantly. “Sure.”

 _Levi would be pissed,_ you think. _Not like there’s anything going on here_. Even if lately, you’ve sort of wished there was.

Erwin looks weary in the evening-gold glow of his lamplit office. Hair falls across his forehead; shadows sit beneath his tired eyes. Can’t blame him. A few weeks ago—the first week of the new year, in fact—he officially became commander. His significant workload seems to have doubled.

You sit in the right-hand chair in front of his desk, your usual spot. Because you’ve got a usual spot now. “What’s up?”

Erwin marks a decisive pen stroke, then breathes a sigh of relief and sets that bundle aside. He looks up, blue eyes a little brighter. “Are you still set on avoiding a promotion? I’m sure you know the track. Start as a junior officer, then a squad leader after—”

“I’m good without it.” You’re still waking from cold-sweat nightmares about the kids you lost after Maria fell. You don’t want that responsibility ever again. “Why?”

Erwin pulls two more papers out of a stack at the corner of his desk, then drops them in front of you. “Because Miche and Hange are fighting over you.”

You blurt a laugh, taking the papers. “What?”

“They both put in requests to get you on their squads. They want your talent.”

You haven’t officially had a squad since that last expedition; there haven’t _been_ expeditions since then. In the wake of Wall Maria’s fall, it’s been all cleanup, logistics, disaster response. The knee Lorena bent put her indefinitely out of commission, and the next expedition is soon.

“You should have the choice,” says Erwin. “I didn’t think you’d choose Miche, but I’ve been surprised before.”

 _Because Levi is on Miche’s squad._ Erwin doesn’t say it, but you hear it all the same. And you _would_ enjoy being on Miche’s squad; his serene confidence inspires confidence in return. But Hange, despite their jittery enthusiasm, is sharp as hell. They react quickly, and they’ve got a sixth sense about Titans. “You were right. I’ll take Hange.”

Erwin nods. “I’ll get started on the transfer documents.”

“Don’t you have people you can delegate this stuff to?”

“The clerks do so much already.”

“Can I help? I could at least stop taking so much of your time.”

“This is time well-spent,” he insists. “Without it, I doubt I’d have the energy to keep working.”

You don’t mean to be so forward, but he _is_ drooping: “You call _this_ ‘the energy to keep working?’”

Erwin hums. “Levi said the same thing, earlier. Well—almost. The phrase he used was ‘you look like shit.’”

“Hate to agree with him, but…”

Here comes that smile. The troublesome one. “I’ll see what I can do about calling it an early night.”

You huff. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“At least you two are trying to keep me accountable.”

“We shouldn’t be the only ones. Just because you’ve got things to do for others doesn’t mean you get to neglect yourself.”

“Keep reminding me,” he says, soft. “If I hear it enough, I might believe it.”

You wonder, sometimes, about this guy. He’d seemed so uncomplicated before. But the way he pushes himself, his refusal to believe he deserves something as simple as a break—where’d that self-flagellation, that self-loathing, come from?

“You got it.” You try to smile back. “You said _somethings,_ that you wanted to ask about?”

“Right.” Erwin reaches for yet another paper—somehow the chaos on his desk is organized—and this time it’s heavy cardstock edged in gold foil, a blood-red wax seal dragging at it. “Some of the brass in Mitras are, ah.” He looks embarrassed. “Throwing me a celebration next month.”

“Sounds fancy.”

“They’re allowing me to bring guests. Would you go?”

You freeze. “Me?”

“I know you haven’t been to the capital. I’m curious to hear your take.”

“They’re a bunch of tightwads who don’t care if we live or die. Easy. I didn’t even have to go.”

His open fondness makes your face heat. “If nothing else,” he says, “the venue has a library you’d enjoy.”

Oh, _does it._ “Tempting. But I—I dunno. Those nobles…”

“You’d be fine. They love nothing so much as bloviating, and you’re a good listener.”

“Only for people I like.”

Erwin’s eyes just soften further. “Do it for me?”

Something about that fucking _tone—_ instantly you think of him murmuring it against your ear. His big, elegant hands pressing yours to the mattress. Fingers threading together. Languid rolls of his hips. _I know you can come again_. _Do it for me_.

You gulp. “If it means that much to you, sure.”

His shoulders actually deflate, like he’s relieved. “It does.”

Now it’s all you can think about: Erwin, braced overtop you. His hair hanging in his eyes. So undone, for you. Because of you. Afterward, curled in the crook of his arm, books in your hands and his, pausing for lingering kisses—

You all but lurch to your feet. “Was that all?”

“It was. Leaving already?”

“Doing you a favor,” you say, aiming for cheer. “Get some sleep.”

You’re still thinking about it when you get back your bunk: Erwin lifting you onto his desk, clearing all those pages with a sweep of his arm. Slow, hot kisses, his hand at your jaw. Under your shirt. Holding your knees apart—

You flee for the one place where there’s some privacy around here: the showers.

 _Don’t do it,_ you think, turning a circle under the steaming spray. On the other side of the curtain, a few others are chatting, talking idly after their own showers. _Do not do this_.

But the images won’t leave your head. Muscles in Erwin’s arms shifting with the frantic clink of belt buckles. Broad shoulders, thick thighs. _Do it for me._ You reach between your legs and bite back a whimper at the rush of pleasure. Levi really _would_ find you pathetic now—

Or maybe he does the same damn thing, since he clearly wants Erwin, too. What does he imagine, in moments like this? You picture it: Levi riding in Erwin’s lap, mouth wet and open, head thrown back in pleasure. Or—fuck, Erwin on his back and Levi thrusting into _him_ , hands braced on Erwin’s chest. Both of them watching you watch them. Reaching for you, even. Desperate gray and fucked-out blue—

Pleasure surges against your fingers; you come so hard that you nearly forget to stifle your cries in your arm. Gasping, you ride out the bliss until the last of it shivers away.

Then you stand there, letting hot water drum against your shoulders.

Really? _Really?_ Picturing _both_ of them tipped you over the edge?

“Shit,” you whisper.

***

There’s no outpost to furnish, no _out there_ to explore. It’s just empty villages. Decomposing bodies. Investigating grain silos to see if anything’s worth salvaging and bringing back.

It’s stifling. Whatever sense of freedom you felt beyond Maria, the hope of finding something _else_ , something new—here, stuck between Maria and Rose, it’s gone. The world behind the walls has shrunk.

At the rendezvous point, Erwin and the front line come riding up to Hange Squad. You nearly yank Gem’s reins in your haste to salute. Erwin’s hair looks a little windblown, his eyes sharply focused as they dart over you and the rest. He seems so _tall_ from up there on his horse, and you on the ground beside Gem. He says, “Where’s Hange?”

“Comparing notes with Miche.” You nod off to the right.

But Erwin’s not done with you. “Find anything at Archerhall?”

 _“_ We filled a few carts with their grain stores—and they’ve still got two watchtowers intact. Could make a decent starting point for an outpost.”

Erwin nods. “Good work.” He tugs the reins around and heads for Hange and Miche, his officers following.

You watch him go, relaxing your salute. It’s so _strange_ seeing him out here in the field, brimming with that aloof, confident control. It’s his first mission as commander, but it may as well be his tenth. _He was born for this,_ you think. _He’s completely out of my reach._

Someone scoffs. You refocus to find Levi just a few paces away, holding a bucket of oats for his horse. “Gonna pull a muscle, twisting after him like that,” he says.

Embarrassment scorches your whole body; fortunately, nobody nearby is paying any attention. You hiss, “Are you ever not scowling?”

“Are you ever not sucking up to him?”

“Wow. _You_ actually said that with a straight face.”

Muscles clench in his jaw. “At least I’m not in denial about it.”

You’re still bickering when Hange butts in with an “Oi, _oi_ , you two—break it up! We’re still in Titan territory!”

***

The night after the expedition, restless energy and shitty memories keep you awake. You’re pulling your boots on, ready to pace the grounds, when you remember that if anyone’s likely to be awake at this hour, it’s Erwin.

 _Don’t do it,_ you tell yourself. _Don’t seek him out. This late, it’s beyond inappropriate._

Except you step outside, and up in the admin building, his office windows are still aglow.

His door is ajar again. The instant you knock, he calls you in. You push the door open—and freeze.

Levi sits across from Erwin in the left-hand chair. He isn’t wearing his gear or his jacket, or even his cravat, and looks strangely vulnerable without them. His face is blank except for one raised brow, almost daring you to step inside.

Erwin, meanwhile—his hair is starting to spill across his forehead. His jacket is draped on the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled, the strap across his sternum unbuckled and hanging. He looks exhausted, but when he says your name and smiles, he’s nothing but pleased. “Levi talked me into a break. Shall we deal you in?”

It’s then that you notice the playing cards fanned in their hands, the rest of the deck on a cleared square of desk.

Levi’s cold gaze suggests he’d rather eat mud than you join. But you’re too damn weary at heart to go without company, even if he’s part of it. “Yeah,” you say, closing the door behind you, heading in. “What is this, a club for insomniacs?”

Erwin’s smile broadens. “I suppose it is.”

Levi scoffs and tosses his cards on the desk. “I was winning that round.”

“No, you weren’t.” Erwin scoops the cards back up and starts shuffling.

You take your usual seat, trying not to eye the dexterous shift of Erwin’s hands, the skillful way he shuffles. As he starts dealing, he asks you, “You all right?”

Not really, but you’re not about to say that in front of Levi. “Just hard to sleep, after expeditions.”

“Another thing we have in common,” says Erwin. “You know this game?”

You do, so everyone picks up their cards and gets going. It’s weird, for a few rounds—uncomfortably, entirely weird, Levi at your side but not snapping at you, even if he does watch you, blank-eyed, over the tops of his cards, one of his elbows on Erwin’s desk. _I can’t read him anymore,_ you think. _Or he’s just out of warmth for me_.

Damn it, you really do miss him. His quiet understanding. How he’d look out for you, in his own way. The respect in his eyes after your training sessions.

At any rate, he’s damn good at card playing. Erwin sweeps the first round, then you squeak by with a victory in the second, but after that, Levi clobbers you both. Repeatedly. “What the hell,” you say, so soundly thrashed that you can’t be anything but impressed. “How are you doing that?”

He shrugs. “I’ve finally figured out your tells.”

“Really.” Erwin leans on the desk with both arms. “Care to share?”

Levi’s sharp eyes lock onto yours. “You have no game face.” He turns to Erwin. “And your game face only shows up when you’ve got a good hand.”

Erwin smirks. “I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be.” Levi scoops up the cards and hands them back to Erwin. “It’s basic survival. You two wouldn’t last a day in the Underground.”

“We might surprise you,” says Erwin. He tosses the cards together in his hands. “Another round?”

“I’m in,” you say. “Now that I know what my tell is.”

You play until you’re nearly falling asleep sitting up, then leave them to it.

The next time you visit Erwin’s office, you’re both deep in discussion about another book when Levi walks in. He actually scoffs and leaves before returning a few minutes later. He drops into his seat, arms folded, legs crossed.

Erwin gives you a look that says, _Don’t worry, I know what to do_ , and pulls out that deck of cards. Levi joins in after a round—“Not that either of you make decent competition,” he grumbles—and then stays for another hour, until Erwin kicks you both out to keep working.

Once you turn up while Levi is cleaning, his kerchiefs on, dusting cloth in hand. His eyes narrow, but he’s silent while he goes over the shelves and you hand a book back to Erwin and stay to chat.

It happens again. And then again. You don’t mind; in Erwin’s office, there seems to be an unspoken ceasefire between you and Levi. Maybe it’s just that Erwin clearly expects civility, and you’re not about to disappoint him.

Outside his office, though, it’s business as usual. Snide comments hissed in the training yard. Aggressively ignoring one another at dinner. Merciless mockery when one of you catches the other staring after Erwin.

It leaves you flustered and frustrated, and thinking of both of them far more than you’d like. The shower debacle repeats itself, Levi turning up uninvited in your fantasies alongside Erwin.

Every time you do it, you tell yourself it’s the last.

The next time always proves you wrong.

***

Mitras sparkles against the nighttime dark, its blue roofs lit from below. Streetlamps line every path. Perfectly manicured green spaces are vibrant as jewels. The venue—one of the buildings in the capital complex—is as beautiful as the rest. It’s all breathtaking, but there’s an unsettling undercurrent you can’t ignore.

 _These_ are the bastards who can barely give the Survey Corps the cash to fund your road rations. These are the bastards living in opulence when so much of humanity has been displaced.

Inside the venue, it’s all shining marble, gilded edges, sparkling crystal. A string quartet fills the air with music. Nobles and military higher-ups mingle in clouds of cologne that get Miche sneezing. Everyone stares at the Scouts like you’re a group of show ponies. It makes you feel strangely protective of Erwin, that all these strangers are forcing him to dance—metaphorically and actually. He and some of the others let partners lead them to the busy dance floor.

The rest of you hover near a table laden with sweets and desserts, keeping count of the horde of nobles who ask Miche to dance. He turns them all down. It’s a wonder that more people don’t ask Levi; they certainly stare enough, his reputation truly preceding him. But his permanent glare seems to deter anyone before they approach.

“Shouldn’t you be used to this by now?” asks Hange, elbowing Levi. “Sucking up to the bigwigs?”

He scowls. “Absolutely not.”

“If the food’s this good,” says Nanaba, who’s been sampling the selection of dainty pastel pastries with you, “I’ll start coming in your place. Miche, come on, you should try _something_.”

Miche turns from the latest disappointed noble and wrinkles his nose. “Not unless someone opens the windows first.”

“I might go snoop around,” you say, noting clusters of guests heading up a grand staircase—presumably toward the galleries and other public areas. “Heard there’s a library somewhere.”

“Second floor,” says Levi, not looking at you.

You turn to him, surprised. “You’ve been?”

“No. But guess who won’t shut up about it.”

So you slip away.

You find the library behind a set of ornate double doors off the second-floor landing. It’s _huge_. Packed bookshelves line the walls from floor to rafters. A magnificent hearth centers the room, reading couches flanking it, vast ornate tables flanking them.

You drift along, inspecting the colorful spines. Fiction, philosophy, natural sciences, history. There’s a whole shelf dedicated to various maps. You pull an atlas free, opening it in the crook of one arm, heart racing as you turn the heavy pages. Maybe _this_ volume will show you a view beyond Maria—

One of the heavy doors creaks open, the distant music suddenly loud; you slam the atlas closed and turn, ready to apologize for sneaking around.

But it’s Erwin. He looks just as surprised as you feel. “Oh,” he says, delighted, letting the door fall shut behind him. “You found the place.”

You remember to breathe. “So did you.”

“I was hoping for a minute away from the crowd.” He comes closer, smiling. He looks so polished in his dress uniform. “Find something interesting?”

“Just an atlas. I wanted to see if...” You trail off, because suddenly you feel ridiculous. Should you, though? This is Erwin. He’s commander of a force whose _job_ is to explore outside the walls.

“See if what?” he asks.

You set the book on a nearby table and open it to where you’d been looking. A diagram of all three walls, spread across both leaves. You gulp. “Just trying to see if maybe _this_ book has maps of anything further than a stone’s throw beyond Maria. From before humanity moved behind the walls.”

He looks at you with renewed interest. “You’re curious about that?”

 _So is he._ “Definitely. I want to see what’s waiting for us when we go as far as we can go. The land can’t just _end_ , and drop us off into the sky.”

“I agree. My father—”

“—the history teacher?”

“Yes.” Erwin looks pleased you remembered from a conversation weeks back. “He had a colleague who worked at the observatory at the Academy of Natural Sciences. According to the astronomer, the shadows cast on the moon during eclipses are curved. Meaning the land we’re standing on…”

Chills race through you. “It’s a sphere,” you whisper. “But that’s—even from up on the walls, it looks flat. It must be _huge_.”

“That’s what I’ve always assumed.”

“But I’ve never seen that in a textbook. Why…”

He glances at you sideways, then around the room. “Why do you think?”

Of course. More censorship. The same reason you’ve never seen a satisfying map. “Point taken.” You look back at the atlas. The things you’ve always wondered, always hoped, seem so much more plausible. “Do you think there are other people who—”

Laughter passes by the doors so closely that you and Erwin both startle.

Erwin closes the atlas. His fingertips drift down the cover. _Distracting_. “We should talk about it outside Mitras. But I do think so. And I’d like to hear your thoughts on it, too.”

“Can’t wait.” You try to refocus. “So, uh. How’s it going out there?”

“I…I’m flattered. People are kind. Hopefully they stay kind the next time we put in a funding request.” He smiles when you snort, then adds, “How are you finding it all?”

“Kind of ridiculous.” You gesture around the room. “All this gilding, and they can’t even set up housing for the people Maria displaced. Everywhere else is drowning, and they’re…dancing.”

“I have to agree. Is that why you don’t dance?”

 _Noticed that, did he?_ “I don’t dance because I don’t know how. Not the fancy kind they do here. The waltzing.”

“Would you like to learn?”

Laughter bubbles out of you, incredulous, but—“Oh,” you say. “You’re serious.”

“Usually.” But his eyes are sparkling.

Shit. Ah, shit, you are in so deep.

And anyway, you can still hear that distant music.

“Yeah, all right.” You shrug like it doesn’t matter. Because it doesn’t. “Show me.”

He offers a hand.

Strong. Broad. Callused in the same places yours are. The moment your palms touch, heat pours through you, steals your air. You situate your other arm along his shoulder—solid, packed with muscle. His other hand settles at your waist, right where the belt of your greatcoat cinches.

But there’s plenty of space between you. He uses it to look down and guide you. “If it’s a waltz,” he says, “it’s a three-step movement, to match the rhythm. So—follow me. Back, one—” He steps; you follow. Fuck, he smells good. “—two, in without landing—three, to the side—”

You lean on him to keep your balance. “Okay—okay, got that—”

It’s a little confusing, and twice you nearly trample his boots, but he’s a good teacher. In no time, you’re careening around the room together, breathless with laughter.

The next pass, you both bump the table with the atlas, and you laugh so hard you have to stop, pulling away, but he’s laughing too—

Someone drawls, “If you’re this bad at it, I see why you’re doing it in here.”

You and Erwin sober immediately, turning.

Levi is leaning against the inside of the closed doors, arms folded, eyes flatly unimpressed.

The mirth slips right off your face.

“Levi,” says Erwin, no less warmth, relaxing again. He’s a little flushed across his cheeks; it looks gorgeous on him. “I suppose I’ve been away long enough, haven’t I.”

“Zackly is looking for you,” says Levi.

Erwin sighs. “Then I’ll find him.” His brows lift, as does the corner of his mouth. “Unless you’d like to dance first.”

If Levi scoffed any harder, his face would freeze that way. But the faintest shade of pink surfaces in his own cheeks. “Yeah, right,” he mutters, no ire in it—maybe even a bit of affection.

“Next time,” Erwin says, and then he’s slipping out of the room.

Levi stays.

“Damn,” he says. “If you were up his ass any further, you’d see daylight out the other side.”

You grab the atlas and shove it back on the shelf. “The irony of _you_ telling me off about him never ceases to amaze me.”

“I’m not completely obvious about it. There’s a difference.”

Fury and embarrassment thrum through you. “Why don’t you get off my case and make a move yourself?”

He gets a hand on the doorknob. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Or anyone.” He slips out and shuts the door in your face.

On the ride back home, you make sure to choose a carriage Levi isn’t in. You’re so pissed, you can barely pay attention to Nanaba, who’s thrilled that she actually convinced Miche to dance with her.

Levi is _infuriating._ Why _doesn’t_ he make a move? Why does he insist on snapping at you? Why won’t he just let this _go?_

Well, you’ve had enough. You’re going to put a stop to it.

As the carriages deposit everyone into the courtyard, you do a brief scan for Erwin and the other officers. There’s no sign; their carriage must have beaten yours here. 

All the better. You turn back toward Levi’s ride. You’re going to tell him to fuck off forever. You’re going to tell him that if he says another word about this, you’ll put spiders in his—

He drops out of his carriage and stomps toward yours before he even catches sight of you. When he does, his brows lower. His path doesn’t waver.

Apparently you’ve _both_ got things to say.

Except Miche is following him. Just as Levi opens his mouth, Miche wraps a huge hand around Levi’s arm and immediately hauls him toward the admin building. “What the fuck,” Levi snarls, but before you can tell Miche to let you deal with this, someone’s hand wraps around _your_ arm and drags you along with Miche and Levi.

Protesting, twisting, you find Hange. “Hange, we don’t need—”

“Seems like you do,” they say, breezy.

“Whatever’s going on between you two,” adds Miche, “the rest of us have had enough.”

“There isn’t anything _going on,_ ” snaps Levi, but Miche just says, “Save it.”

Of course, they march you right to Erwin’s office.

And of course his door is open, the lamps lit. Miche pushes Levi inside and Hange hauls you in after them. Erwin looks up, alarmed, papers in his hands as he rises from the desk. Hange and Miche shove you down into your usual seats.

You fold your arms, fuming. You’ve never been so mortified in your life. You fix your eyes on the chaos of Erwin’s desk and will the floorboards to open up beneath you.

Erwin is still wearing his dress uniform, his greatcoat unbuttoned. He blinks at you and Levi, flabbergasted, then up at Hange and Miche. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Almost positive they were about to murder each other,” says Hange.

“And it wouldn’t be the first time,” grumbles Miche. “Do something about it.”

They let the door snap shut behind them, and in the stifling silence of Erwin's office, you hear their voices fade down the hall.

Erwin tucks his papers back into separate folios. You can feel him studying you and Levi, still taken aback. At last he says, “Either of you care to explain?”

Levi looks away.

You look the other way.

With a long sigh, Erwin sits again, slowly. “Shall I order you?”

Like hell you’re about to talk, threatened or otherwise. Levi keeps his trap shut, too.

Erwin rubs at a temple. “I don’t know why I’m asking. I know what this is about.”

Your stomach drops like you just stepped off the wall.

“Doubt that,” mutters Levi, folding his arms just as tightly as yours.

But you’re looking at Erwin now, and oh, his _face_.

The bewilderment is gone. In its place is something terribly tender. Adoringly fond, hopeful, almost too bright to look at. Gently, he says, “Is it not about the both of you wanting what you think you can’t have?”

You gape at him.

_Is he—no. He can’t mean—_

Levi scoffs. “Full of yourself much?”

“What do you mean,” you venture, heart pounding, “what we _think_ we can’t have?”

At that, Levi looks sharply at him.

And Erwin, the way he breathes out in a rush— _he didn’t know for_ sure _that we want him until just now,_ you realize. “You only needed to ask,” Erwin murmurs.

_Holy shit._

_Holy—_

Levi’s jaw is hanging; you’ve never seen so much open shock on his face. “You _knew_ that we want—”

“Yes,” says Erwin.

You hold out a hand, palm-down, to clarify. “And you’re saying you _also_ want—”

“I do,” says Erwin. The faintest shade of red has surfaced across his cheeks. “Both of you. But we’d need to come to an understanding. Well—several understandings. There, I admit I hesitate.”

“Understandings?” you echo.

“Hesitate?” Levi rasps.

Erwin leans on his arms on the desk. His voice is so soft. “Well, for one, we’d need to keep this in the strictest of confidences. You don’t need me to tell you that relationships between ranks are prohibited. And look where we just came from. The added pressure of keeping this secret, on top of my other duties, would be immense. And all of that aside…I can’t picture the two of you tolerating one another.”

You squint at him. “What does that…”

“I don’t have enough time to split between you,” he says. “Either we do this together—all three of us—or we don’t do it at all.”

Levi looks at you in tight-lipped horror; you gawk right back.

Erwin adds, “I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think you were more fond of each other than you’re willing to admit.”

Levi scoffs, and so do you, but hell—maybe Erwin’s right, because it isn’t an entirely unappealing idea. You wouldn’t actually have to _do_ anything with Levi, not really, and if you did…would it really be so bad?

“I don’t want you to decide right now,” says Erwin. “Talk it over with each other. But if we were to act on this—we'd need to keep the relationship strictly recreational. None of us can afford attachments deeper than the bonds we already share. It would be a way to alleviate the pressures of our responsibilities from time to time. Nothing more.”

That surprises you. Disappoints you, too, but you’ve been working on your game face. _Friends with benefits. Could I do that?_ If it meant having Erwin, you’d damn well give it a shot.

“Tell you one thing,” Levi mutters. “If you’re this fucking strait-laced in the sack, I’m out right now.”

Erwin smirks. “Only one way to find out.”

Welp. "Fuck," you mutter.

“You’re dismissed,” Erwin adds, looking delighted that he's had that effect on you. “Try not to tear each other’s heads off around anyone else, will you?”

When you open the door, Hange and Miche look up from down the hall—too far for an eavesdrop. But Hange’s back in the threshold before you or Levi can leave it. “Well?” they demand of Erwin. “What’s their punishment?”

You look at Erwin in a panic, but he doesn’t hesitate. “Three weeks on stable duty,” he says. “Sixth to the tenth evening bells. Both of them.”

You nearly laugh in surprise, but the slow way Levi swivels toward him—

“As we agreed,” says Erwin. “Dismissed.”

Hange and Miche linger, so you and Levi head out.

And he doesn’t speak.

At the point where you should split for your own barracks, you pause to say, “We should—”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He’s already walking away.

Fury sizzles through you. You snap after him, “Not with that shitty attitude, there isn’t!”

He doesn’t respond.

There’s no _way_ you’ll sleep now. You walk a few agitated laps across the chilly, lantern-lit grounds, trying to think.

Erwin wants you.

He wants both of you.

Fuck, and you can just picture it. Your hands in his hair, messing it up, and his big hands on your hips, holding you steady. Levi, kissing him. Levi, watching you and Erwin. Levi, his eyes on yours while Erwin fucks him—

The warm spice-scent of cloves hits your nose. Surprised, you look up to find yourself near the back exit of the administration building. And there, half-illuminated in the lantern beside the door, Erwin leans in the threshold. One hand in the pocket of his open greatcoat, the other balancing a cigarillo across his knuckles.

He’s watching you, and he smiles, warm and inviting.

You can’t help it. You drift closer.

He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out the pack of smokes, offers it.

“Nah,” you say. “Not feeling a whole one. Thanks, though.”

He tucks the pack away, but offers you the cigarillo between his fingers.

You take it. Your knuckles brush; sparks ignite in your belly and land between your legs. Erwin’s throat bobs, his eyes on you when you take a pull. He murmurs, “Was I wrong to speak so bluntly?”

You hand back the smoke. “Dunno. But I’m embarrassed enough that I probably could’ve lived with the longing.”

He takes a long pull. “I don’t know if I could.”

Your own doubts and fears surge up. “You can’t feel the same about us both.”

“I don’t. Of course it’s different; our histories are so varied. But it’s equally intense.”

You look away. _He wants me. He wants us_. It’s real. “I believe you.”

“Whatever you decide,” he says, “I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore. I can make sure we barely have to—”

“C’mon,” you protest. “You’re one of _my_ good things.” The Slade reference makes him smile, but it’s true. Erwin might be the only person you’ve ever met who could actually follow through on a _let’s-just-be-friends_. Who could make it good and fulfilling without being unbearable. “We’ll figure it out,” you say. “I really—damn. I can’t tell you how much I want to make it work.” 

“So do I.”

You breathe out, shaky. With Levi convinced, you could press Erwin back into this door, start kissing the everliving out of him. You could be _in his bed_. He could be pulling your knees over his shoulders, opening his mouth against—

You hold up your hand, two fingers. He sets the cigarillo there.

“Congratulations, by the way,” you say, exhaling smoke. “On the whole—commander thing. Thanks for the party invite. Pastries were top-notch.”

“I’m glad you came. I still want to continue our conversation, sometime.”

You’d completely forgotten the atlas. “Right. Definitely.” You hand the cigarillo back. “But for now, I should really…”

“It’s late,” he agrees. “I should be in bed, too.”

“Then—night, commander.” Ready to flee, you sketch a hasty salute, half a joke because really, you’ve gone so fucking far past protocol by now.

But Erwin— _Erwin_. He straightens up, pulls his shoulders back, presses his fist over his heart. The cigarillo points straight up from his knuckles, the ember end reflected in his eyes when he dips his chin in a formal nod. A smile flits at the edges of his mouth. “Good night, private.”

You fucking scram.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter, our E rating is finally, officially showing up—though perhaps not in the way it might seem, after all this? we’ll likely dip into the present timeline again, too. 'til then, lovelies!


End file.
